《Hell To Pay (Demonspawn: Book 1)》 Prologue Prologue The muted light of the Pit shines from overcast skies, casting long shadows from obsidian spires. Structures line the unkept streets with dark palaces visible in the distance. The exterior of the buildings lining the street nearly match the standing of the owners in their visage; some crumbling and unkempt, others pristine in architecture. A flinching figure walks down one of these streets, glancing at every noise and dodging every hawker offering him things they can¡¯t deliver. Specters slither from the shadows of the more withered structures to whisper ¡°power¡± or ¡°knowledge¡± or ¡°clout,¡± claiming they know the secrets that could make him a force to be reckoned with here in the Pit. It''s all false, he knows. After all, he muses, if they had a way, would they not have used it themselves? Many of low birth or rank succumb to these schemes, their lust for more makes them accept unworthy bargains, leaving them to eventually burn to a pile of ash left to blow away as the sinister peddlers look for other victims. The rulers of this world have created a system that thrives on lies, on the lives of those consumed by greed, avarice, and a constant desire for power. Its parallels to the world they seek to gain are becoming more apparent. He darts through the streets into the entrance of his master¡¯s palace, and breathes a sigh of relief as the gates close behind him. With a last glance to the street he walks up the winding way to a grand keep, nodding at guards patrolling the path. They offer appraising looks as he passes until he enters the palace proper. Within the greeting chamber, a new kind of stress boils in his core. The news he has may be his end, but he must tell or the punishment otherwise . . . He wishes not to think on it. Leaving this small room, he enters the statuary. Figures of past rulers and mockeries of vanquished foes line this room, the latter being a warning to guests of any rank. Entering the main hall, he moves toward the dual staircases leading upstairs. His footsteps echo on the marble-like flooring throughout the massive chambers, his legs feeling heavier as he marches toward his Lord¡¯s study. A cold sweat dots his forehead, getting worse the closer he gets. He is an attendant. An attendant is disposable. There are plenty of low rank in The Pit, any suitable to do his job, and he knows it. Plenty would also kill him for his position--if his master doesn''t do it just for fun, that is. He begins shaking as he approaches the doors to the study. He usually does this with more practice and confidence in his movements. But this time, he has a confession. A confession that vexes him still. What the hell was he thinking, giving that girl all of that information? She tricked him somehow, beguiled him. She must have. He would never betray his master, even with the constant threat of being killed on a whim. There are worse things than death in the underworld--much worse. But he had failed in his duties. Maybe she wouldn''t do anything with what she''d learned. Maybe just the information would do. But he knows this isn''t true. It is already gone. How did she even get down here? Her kind should not be able to get here, at least not yet. He realizes he''s been standing in front of the door long enough to make it strange. His master will no doubt have heard him coming and will likely question him about standing here. He raises his hand to knock, but before his knuckles touch the door he hears, ¡°Enter.¡± Letting out a last shaky breath and wiping his forehead with the sleeves of his robes of station, he enters the room. The ruler of this keep sits behind a large desk, writing on parchment. His immense figure is large, but made even more so by his renown. This Lord of the Pit gained his seat with public displays of raw power and has held it by maliciously wiping out challengers as they arise. His cruelty is well-known. To those in his service, he is relatively good. To his enemies . . . A shiver passes through the attendant as he considers his position now after his betrayal. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°What is it, Gnat?¡± his master asks, startling the attendant as he shuts the door. The Lord notices this and looks up from his papers. Gnat . . . Not his given name, but what he is addressed as every day by his betters. ¡°I . . .I,¡± Gnat stammers, ¡°My Lord, I¨CI wanted to inform you that the time is almost upon us. It will start soon.¡± Gnat''s master sits back, a slight smile touches his lips.¡°Excellent,¡± he says. ¡°This time should prove . . . interesting.¡± His eyes bore into Gnat''s. Gnat''s mind starts to race, wondering if his master knows of his transgression. Breaking the eye contact, Gnat instead inspects the ground. ¡°My lord,¡± Gnat murmurs, flicking his eyes up then back at the ground, wondering how his mouth betrayed him. Now that he has started, it may be better to get in front of it instead of letting his master find out from another. ¡°Speak.¡± ¡°My Lord, there has been a . . . an interesting complication,¡± Gnat says, trying to soften the blow. ¡°Oh?¡± he asks, raising an eyebrow. Gnat winces, considering the words. He licks his lips, clears his throat, and continues. ¡°Yes, my Lord. She was here.¡± ¡°She?¡± Gnat lets the question linger in the air then makes eye contact again, holding it this time. Realization dawns on his master¡¯s face. He brings up his hand and rubs his chin. ¡°Ah, interesting indeed.¡± There is another pregnant silence before he responds. ¡°What did she want?¡± ¡°Just information,¡± Gnat says, and his master smiles, ¡°at first . . .¡± ¡°At first?¡± his master asks in the same tone, his smile faltering. ¡°And after that?¡± Gnat swallows and nearly chokes as it slides slowly over the lump growing larger in his throat. ¡°More information,¡± he manages, ¡°But about something more specific.¡± ¡°And that would be?¡± his master responds, the words coming out more agitated with Gnat''s slow speech. ¡°About the reward. About it . . .¡± Gnat flinches at the sharp bark of laughter his master emits, knowing he won''t think it''s so funny soon. ¡°Splendid! Ambitious, that one is.¡± He laughs again and smiles, showing nearly all of his teeth. Gnat starts to sweat more in preparation for the end of his admission and, quite possibly, his life. ¡°Then, she . . . took it, my Lord.¡± The laughing cuts off abruptly. His master glowers, studying Gnat¡¯s face and slowly stands up. ¡°What?!¡± Gnat backs up, nearly falling over in the looming shadow of the hulking figure. ¡°I am sorry, my Lord. I don''t know how it happened. She shouldn''t even be able to get here; I don''t understand-¡± ¡°Don''t give me your excuses, insect! Do you know what this means?!¡± ¡°Yes, my Lord.¡± Gnat freezes as his master steps around the desk and walks to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Have the rest of the preparations been made?¡± he asks. Gnat feels heat in his chest. ¡°Y--yes, my Lord.¡± A whimper escapes his lips as he burns from the inside, his master¡¯s flames coursing through his body. ¡°Good then. Let the games begin.¡± Chapter 1: Spell Sickness ¡°Shut up!¡± I roll over muttering curses and pulling my blanket tightly around me. It has been a busy night and all I want is some sleep. I can usually put up with this. I can put up with a lot, actually. And I''ve always been an advocate of the old saying, "Things could always be much worse." In most cases, it''s true. But right now . . . The sheets and blanket are ripped off the bed, and I''m flung into the wall. "Son of a¡ª, cut the crap!" I yell at the empty room. Standing up and grabbing my blanket, I lay back down in my bed and pull it back over me. It''s quiet for a beat but, as I start to drift off, there''s another loud crash, followed by whispering in my ear. "I will show you unspeakable horrors." That''s it. "Leave me the hell alone!" I yell, going full horror movie monster, the glare from my illuminated eyes shines red on the walls. Ghosts like to mess with me before they pass on. Doing odd things to let me know they¡¯re there. Things like: throwing me off my bed, whispering threats into my ear or ruining my house. And unfortunately, only evil spirits seek me out. All spirits seek a beacon when it''s their time. Evil seeks me out because of my aura. Y''see, I''m a demon. Well, half demon anyway, but that doesn''t really matter to most beings. The dichotomy of good and evil is lost on all but those who are morally gray. I''m not sure if it''s because they think I can make a recommendation for wherever it is they''re going if they show me their power as a spirit or what, but it''s annoying. Truth is, I have no sway with whatever forces they''ll meet, and I have no insight on what happens when they do pass on. So I get the raw end of the deal on that front. But it''s nice to feel their energy dissipate when I go all stereotypical demon on them. Movies and TV have made an image of us that everyone expects. Even the dead. I finally start to fall asleep again when my alarm goes off. I have one on my phone, but I also use a bedside clock so that I don¡¯t start doom scrolling and fall back asleep again. Some days, though, I wish I could breathe fire and melt that clock. I¡¯ve been told that it¡¯s possible for someone of my lineage, but the best I can muster is some sparks and a lot of heat. It¡¯s probably for the best, it wouldn''t be good for most of my appliances if I could anyway. Instead of melting the clock, I turn it off and I begrudgingly get up to get ready for work. The water lines creak in the shower and I use the bathroom to let it warm up. But, unfortunately, it¡¯s a fruitless effort, the water isn¡¯t warming up quite right today. And by quite right, I mean at all. That, paired with my multiple rude awakenings, gives me reason to believe this day will suck. I mean, I may run hot being a creature of hellfire and brimstone, but I still enjoy a nice hot shower. What the cold water doesn''t give me in comfort, it does give me in startling clarity for the morning. Washing my face, the hair on my chin and neck scratches my hands. Perhaps a shave is in order. I¡¯ve reached that weird in-between phase in my attempt at growing a beard that just looks like dirt is clinging to my face. I analyze myself in the mirror that, conveniently, isn¡¯t fogged up--I still would¡¯ve preferred a hot shower though. Over the years as I''ve met more people like me, I''ve found that most half-supernatural creatures, regardless of parentage, look like mixed race children. I myself have almost black hair and hazel eyes, and my skin looks like I tan without the leathery aftermath. I have a slight scar over my left eyebrow that goes unnoticed by most people. I check for more drastic changes to myself: horns, dark eyes, etc. It''s always on my mind, but my features seem normal. Sometimes, I worry that my other half is pushing through and hiding it from me somehow. It''s hard to say how it feels knowing there''s something inside of you that could take you over if you let it. I guess everyone has that feeling, but my demon half could cause a lot of real damage--and it wants to. After the vanity check, I grab my razor and run it under the water that, for some reason, decides now it can come out hot. As soon as the blade touches my face, the head of the razor falls off and goes down the drain. Staring at the drain in disbelief for a moment, I slide open the container and connect another blade to the handle then bring it to my face. This one pops off and goes down the drain as well. I rip open a new package and put it on, then hold my hand underneath it, putting the razor to my face. The blade actually slips off to the side, cutting my cheek. Grasping at it, the razor evades me and is forced down the drain. Heat courses through my chest when I hear the laughter around me. The burning flares hot for a moment and all is quiet. I hate ghosts. I sigh angrily, compose myself, snatch another blade then attach it to the handle. At least the rest of my morning routine goes smoothly. I get dressed after the shower and go downstairs to make breakfast. My preferred morning drink is orange juice, but only before I brush my teeth. No one wants that vile mint and orange combo in their mouth. And the bitterness of coffee is no better. I don¡¯t drink it, which is like the original sin to some. I¡¯ve been called worse things than a half demon when I tell people that, but I prefer to run on my own energy. After breakfast I wash some dishes, brush my teeth, look at the weather for the day¨Ccold¨Cthen go to start my car. My still damp hair nearly freezes to my head when I walk outside. Snow has gathered on the sidewalk, and the ice hiding underneath it is slippery. I take it slow on the sidewalk, with my legs spread apart for balance and arms spread out for extra stability. I take stunted steps, like a fat baby and manage minimal slipping while getting to my car and unlocking it. The handle lifts, but the mechanism inside must''ve frozen as well. I''ve had this happen before. Last time, the handle never worked again. I had to buy a new door and if I didn''t want to do that, I''d have had to rip off the inside of the door to get at the handle. And of course, if I did that, the contents wouldn''t have fit like the factory seal ever again. I crouch down and take a closer look. I test my not-quite-fire breath on my hands a few times to feel its warmth. On the fourth time, a bit of smoke escapes. I cup my hands around my mouth, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly toward the lock. The air ripples, and the ice on the handle melts. Unfortunately, so does some of the dark blue paint around it.. "Crap," I say aloud, rubbing at the charred paint with my sleeve. It''s not coming off. That''s what I get for playing with fire. Almost literally. The drive is slow going as well. I probably didn¡¯t need to leave so early¨Ctrucks have plowed and laid a layer of salt, but people are still very cautious. Driving in the winter is a study in constant frustration. People never remember how to drive when it snows, even though they deal with it every year. My road rage manifests in a lot of eye rolling, steering wheel pounding, and bird-flipping, but I finally make it to work. I like to get there early and relax before the pressures of dealing with self-important customers who think they''re smart. I work at a bookstore. Most people think as booksellers, we deal with a higher caliber of customer. They are wrong though, as I discovered¨Cwithin my first week¨Cwhen someone made eye contact with me while trying to poop in a urinal. I should have quit then. In actuality, you deal with an obscene amount of adult feces and just as many thieves and idiots as in any other retail position. At least that¡¯s how it is in my city. There is no escape. As soon as I sit down in the back office, our resident over-sharer walks in the door. She starts talking as soon as she sees there¡¯s someone in the breakroom. I ignore her, but she talks anyway. She puts her things into a locker and prattles on about her life. When she starts going, I think about what punishments in hell must be like. Is something like this on the torture agenda? I know there is a person or persons like this at every job, and I can''t be the only one who feels this way about them. I walk away from her, but she continues talking to the empty break room. I pass another coworker on the way out and shake my head, trying to silently tell him not to go in there. He doesn''t get it. He raises an eyebrow and continues walking. I glance back and see him catch the door, look inside, then try to turn around. "Ah, Geoff!" I hear her say, and he stares daggers at me as the door closes. I''ll hear about it later, but I let out a small laugh. I walk to the front registers and see who''s working. It''s the new girl. We''ve talked a few times and from what I''ve gathered, she''s slightly younger than me and has a very bubbly, cheery personality. You know, someone whose innocence hasn''t been destroyed by retail yet. She doesn¡¯t look over when I walk behind the counter to a nearby register, because she''s talking to a customer. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Well, he seems like a customer to her. I can tell he¡¯s more. I''m not normally a guy that gets in the way of someone¡¯s flirting, but this guy--I hate him. I don''t know him, but I hate him with every available fiber of my being. I can tell just by his aura: seduction, lust, and hunger Incubi. Natural roofies. Women, and sometimes men depending on the Incubi''s persuasion, often think that they''ve been hit by a pickup artist or something after being tricked by an incubus. And that''s only if they survive the encounter. I hate watching it. People have no idea that it''s a supernatural being''s will that is invading their own. I''ve seen this guy before. He''s been around the store a lot lately but never actually buys anything. I notice him because of his hair. It''s silver. On purpose. What a fashionable leech. Maybe he¡¯s just been watching Anna, and that makes this worse in my eyes. Not all demons are predators. Some, like me, just want to live our lives. But this guy is clearly on the hunt for someone, though it¡¯s not through stealth. Most demons hide their aura. It has a way of inciting certain emotions based on the demon''s desires. Sometimes, that would bring unwanted attention if the demon has a goal in mind, but he seems to employ it constantly. He walks around with a smug air of self-righteousness that any retail worker can recognize as the worst kind of customer. He¡¯s manipulating his energy and using his power to break her will, so I walk over and exert my own form of supernatural will. It''s sort of like a negative zone. It''s not as good as it sounds and sometimes it doesn''t work, so I don''t usually use it. If she¡¯s actually into it, my one won¡¯t do anything and I¡¯ll leave it at that. If she¡¯s not, it will break the connection. He must really be laying it on, because her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are glazed and unfocused, and she is starting to touch his arm. A lot. Just as I figured, it''s noticeable when my zone takes effect by the way her eyes focus. She looks around quickly like she doesn''t remember how she got here. She withdraws her hand and looks at him. "Can I help you find anything else?" she asks, taking the opportunity to extract herself. He seems taken aback by her sudden need to bring their conversation to a close, and I smile to myself. "Maybe," he says but trails off. I can feel him pushing against me. "Would you want to--" My negative zone is flimsy from lack of use, so I don¡¯t think I can hold it for long. I have to find a way to interrupt their eye contact. If I don''t break their focus on each other, he¡¯ll regain control. "Hey Anna," I say as I approach her. They both snap their heads toward me. The strength of his will fades from his aura and from her. "Hey, Mike!" She says, and then looks back toward the incubus. "I''m sorry, what were you saying?" she asks him. He looks me up and down. That''s right assbag, the jig is up. Move along. "No," he says, still looking at me. There is a look of confirmation on his face, and I don''t really like that. "I think I''ve got everything I need here." He turns and walks away. I''ve got everything I need here? What the hell does that mean? I watch him walk away, and Anna says something that I don''t quite hear. She shakes my arm and I turn. "What?" "Do you know that guy?" "No . . . I mean, I don''t think so." "Oh, it seemed like he knew you." "Yeah . . ." I muddle through my work day, doing my tasks and helping customers. An hour before I¡¯m finished, Anna walks past me on her way out, and I wave to her. She looks a little paler than before and her bangs are matted to her forehead. I make a mental note to see how she¡¯s doing next time we work together. Bringing books into the receiving department, I do some returns before calling it quits. I actually don''t have to clean up anyone''s bodily fluids today. We mark that in the win column. However, I do end up hearing it from Geoff. He calls me a few choice names and tells me to ''use words'' next time, like I am a child. I laugh it off and tell him I¡¯ll buy him a beer. That seems to quell his anger somewhat. I''m about to leave the building for the day when I feel a scorching hand lightly touch my arm. "Mike," the hand is Anna¡¯s, and as her grip slowly tightens, it feels hot even to me. What is she doing here? She got off nearly an hour ago. She¡¯s sitting in a chair in our entryway to the store, and I hadn¡¯t noticed her. I survey the area quickly to see if the incubus is still here. Maybe she¡¯s creeped out? ¡°Hey, what¡¯re you still doing here?¡± I ask. She is visibly dripping with sweat now and as pale as ever. "Sorry to ask, but no one else has left yet. Could you walk me out? I''m not feeling so well." I clench my jaw so hard my teeth feel like they''re about to crack. I know what''s happening. She''s coming down with spell sickness. It means she really didn''t want to talk to the incubus. He put some serious mojo on her to get her attention, and now her body is rejecting the residual effects. She could get a slight to severe fever, maybe a rash of red blotchy skin or a headache and dizziness; common symptoms that regular people would attribute to coming down with a cold. I take her hand and try to get her to her feet, but she sits back down when she¡¯s only halfway up. She shivers, even though she seems to be getting even warmer. I help her stand, her clothes and visible skin are covered in sweat too. This is a severe reaction. "Do you mind if I just take you home?" I ask her. I don¡¯t think she should drive. She has trouble focusing as she looks at me. Her eyes glaze over, then snap back to attention multiple times in a matter of seconds. "Where do you live, Anna?" I need her to tell me quickly before she passes out. If she lives with someone¨Cgreat. If not, her threshold will relieve some of the effects, but only some. She tells me, but slurs badly. I think I have it, though. She passes out right when we reach my car. I get a few weird looks as I''m getting her into my car, because it''s clear she''s unconscious. A guy walks past, and I think he is about to approach by the way he is looking at me. I expected someone to, but he gets out his phone and tries to hide the fact that he is taking pictures of me and my car and continues walking. It''s a decent strategy, but if I was just going to murder her, having that info wouldn''t save her. I buckle her in and get in on the driver''s side. After making sure everything is alright for her, I take my phone out of my pocket and make a call. "Hello?" He sounds groggy. It''s like five o''clock, and he''s sleeping. I hate people that don''t have to actually work for a living. That''s not fair. He does work¨Cjust not much. "Hey, Kai, it''s Mike." I have known Kai for a while, we met in my younger days. We''d gotten into a few fights¨Cover what, I can''t even remember anymore¨Cand when I met my mentor, I''d gone through a change of heart. I made amends with him by assisting in some of his jobs. "Who?" he asks at the end of a yawn. "Mike. Don''t be a dick." "Oh, hey. Sup, brah?" Ugh. "I need some leech detox, you got any?" "Vamp?" "Nah, incubus." "Did he finish?" "No, he didn''t even start, really. But the girl was resistant and he put out a lot of power." "Ugh. Aiight, man, you comin'' here?" "No, I''m gonna get her home. She''ll need to be there for what she''s about to go through." "Yeah, the healing power of home and all that. Tell me where I''m meetin'' ya." I give him the address, plug it into my maps app, and make my way there. Chapter 2: You can call me a Shaman My car nearly bottoms out on the curb lip that leads to her apartment building¡¯s parking lot. She lives fairly close to work, luckily. It''s easily within manageable walking distance. I look around from within the car counting the building numbers and hoping she was coherent enough to give me the right one. It was weird enough getting her into my car, but this is going to be tricky, too. I don''t think I can get her back out, into the building, onto the elevator (please God, let there be an elevator) and into her apartment without being seen. Or can I? I''ve used my negating ability before to hide. It takes away energy, making me undetectable to some supernatural beings or, like earlier with the incubus, dispelling some of their power. But if I put out enough mojo, could I actually become so nil that people may not notice me? Like, being so boring that I fade into my surroundings and fade from perception? That shouldn''t be too hard for me. There''s no way to test it on the street, because people will ignore just about anything there¨Cpossibly even a man carrying an unconscious woman. I pull her out of the car as gently as I can and sling her over my shoulder. It is undignified, but I''ll be more noticeable if I''m shuffling while trying to carry her weight next to me or even if I carry her in my arms. At least that¡¯s my assumption. I walk up to the door and pull on the handle and . . . nothing. The door doesn''t budge. Crap. It takes a key or a badge of some kind and I don''t want to look through her pockets or purse. I may be carrying the aforementioned unconscious girl over my shoulder to her apartment, but I''m no creep. Fortunately, or unfortunately given the situation, there is someone walking up the sidewalk to the door. I really try to force my boring aura, but the kid that walks up has his face buried in his phone, and I''m not sure if he would notice me anyway. When he walks past me, something makes him look up. He stops and turns his head slowly, looking directly at me. I look around and am about to try to explain, but his gaze isn''t technically on me. He''s kind of looking through me it seems. He raises an eyebrow, then looks down again and continues walking. I follow him, trying to match his footsteps to make as little extra sound as possible. He gets to the door and runs his hand down all of the buzzers for the different apartments. In return, there is a cacophony of voices asking things like, "Who is it?" or "What do you want?" or more annoyed responses like, "I''m not interested," or my personal favorite, the F-bomb and a dismissal. The kid speaks in a forced high pitch voice and whines, "I forgot my key." The buzzer for the door sounds, and he opens it and walks in. I slide in after him, but the door hits Anna''s head. Sorry, Anna. She doesn''t react at all. I hope she''s going to be alright. He presses the button for the elevator and I say a silent thank you to the builders for putting one in. I wait closely behind him, but he is concentrating on his phone again. The door opens a moment later, and I follow again, trying to keep Anna¡¯s head from hitting a wall. He presses a button, but I dare not. I''ll just wait till he gets off and hope no one else gets on. "Hey, uh," he says, and I nearly jump out of my skin. "What''re you doin?" I open my mouth and close it again. I don''t really have anything to say. I shrug. "Just riding in the elevator up to your place.¡± he says then is silent for a moment. ¡°I dunno, I keep feeling like someone is watching me," he says looking around. I notice now that there is something in his ear, and he''s talking on the phone. When the elevator stops and the doors open, he looks around once more before stepping off and into the hallway. "I''m on your floor, be there in a sec," I hear as the doors close. I sigh with relief and press the button for her floor. The elevator creaks but resumes its upward climb. I check Anna''s breathing, then her pulse. She still seems simply unconscious. The elevator reaches the floor and the doors open again. I try to walk out, but someone else is trying to come in at the same time. We collide and I fall backward, dropping Anna. The other person fell backward as well. Clearly neither of us had our footing. Anna is somewhat under me, and I try the only thing I can think of. "Anna, Anna are you okay?¡± I ask, shaking her arm. She mumbles something unintelligible, and I turn to the person I just knocked over to offer her my hand. "I''m sorry," we say in unison. She takes my hand and recoils when we touch, then looks up at me wide-eyed. I tilt my head. ¡°Can I help you up?¡± I ask. She eyes me for a second and tentatively takes my hand, so I help her up. I¡¯m getting a weird vibe from her. She dusts herself off, then sees Anna still on the ground. "Oh my God! Is she okay?" she asks. I look down at Anna. "Yeah, she had a tooth pulled and was still a little loopy. I was carrying her in and I didn''t see you," I say, picking Anna up again. I totally could¡¯ve used that excuse before if my brain worked faster. The other woman rubs her forehead, where a red spot is forming. "Yeah, I didn''t see you either--you kinda came outta nowhere. Sorry about that," she says. I shrug. "It''s okay¨CI''ve had much bigger people hit me," I say, smiling. She raises an eyebrow and smiles awkwardly. It doesn''t take. Smooth. "Well, hope it doesn''t happen again," she says, getting into the elevator. I just kinda creepily nod as the doors close. Oh well, time to get Anna into her apartment. I get to her door and realize that, all along, there was never a way to get her in here without going through her pockets and/or through her purse. This whole thing could''ve been at least a little easier. I sigh as I set her down beside her door. I look through her purse first, because I feel it''s the less invasive thing to do, as opposed to going through her pockets. I''m probably wrong, but I feel rushed in this scenario: rifling through a woman''s purse outside her apartment while she lays unconscious next to me. Her keys are in the second pocket I explore, and it takes me a minute to find the right one. There¡¯s a small end table next to the doors with a bowl on top, so I put hers in it when I walk past. As soon as we pass her threshold, I feel her body release tension that I had no idea she was holding. She exhales a deep breath as her body relaxes. I check the layout of the place quickly. A small walkway opens into a living room and kitchen. The living room is a mix match of either hand-me-down or flea market furniture. Much better than my dumpster chic collection. There are various pictures hanging on the walls, but I don''t take the time to look. There are knitted doilies that are probably from a grandparent or something. Not that you have to be old to knit, but it''s always what I picture. A small wall acts as the separation from the kitchen, and a hallway leading off to my left leads to, I assume, at least one bedroom and a bathroom. I take the hallway and push open a door to reveal her bedroom. I carry her in and lay her on her bed. It''s really no wonder her place has a decent threshold barrier. She has really made this apartment a home. I cover her up with a flowery quilt that was lying neatly draped over the bed, then hear a knock at the front door. I go back down the hall to answer it, opening the door expecting Kai. There¡¯s no one there, so I poke my head out into the hall to look around. Not a soul in sight, but the elevator doors are closing and there¡¯s a package on the ground. I grab it but get a big shock from it that leaves my hand stinging and I drop it back to the floor. I lightly kick it inside, and it slides under the little end table next to the door that has the bowl on it. I look around again before pulling my head back in. I could have sworn I heard someone say, ¡°Yes.¡± Maybe it was Anna in her sleep. My foot stings a bit for having nudged such a small box, it felt like I got the same kind of shock but through my shoe. I wonder what¡¯s in the package, but I¡¯m not about to do all this and open her mail. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.I walk back down the hall and look in on her again, but hear another knock at the door. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll check first this time,¡± I say aloud. "Mmmm humph," is Anna''s response. I take it as consent to answer it. Looking through the peephole this time, I see Kai is standing there. He¡¯s wearing a light jacket with a backpack slung over his shoulder, looking around casually while he waits. I open the door and step aside. He walks in, seeming to appraise the place as he looks around. "Sup, bruh?" he asks, taking his backpack off. He sets the backpack on the couch, then takes his jacket off, folds it, and lays it on the couch as well. Kai is a very large guy, in muscle and height, and has darker skin that makes his ethnicity indiscernible. He usually wears either a muscle shirt or no shirt at all to show off his annoying arms. They are covered in tattoos of various figures and animals. The tattoos never seem to be in the same place twice. Every now and again, the trained eye can see them shifting. It''s very intriguing. I asked him once what he was. I¡¯ve never seen tattoos like his, and I can¡¯t place his aura. It¡¯s always moving, shifting like his tattoos. There¡¯s a light about him that¡¯s hard to read. He responded with, "You can call me a Shaman." Dunno what that has to do with tattoos that move, but I didn''t press it. I did make a joke one time, calling him Maui from that Disney movie. He didn¡¯t like it. He opens his pack and starts sorting through bags. ¡°So,¡± he says as he pulls one out that holds a stick, a small tray and a lighter, ¡°How long was the leech on her?¡± Lighting the stick, he places it on the tray. The pleasant smell of cinnamon fills the air followed by a flowery scent. I feel more relaxed as I inhale. ¡°Not long as far as I know. I was able to cancel the effect, but he was putting out a lot of energy,¡± I respond. I explain the events while watching his hands as he works. He nods and reaches in for another bag that contains a coffee mug, then grabs a flask out of a side pocket on his pack. ¡°They usually do that kinda stuff at clubs. It¡¯s weird he was doing it in broad daylight like that. What happened after you killed the mood?¡± he asks, pouring a semi-opaque liquid into the mug and breaking up some plants into it, swirling the contents. ¡°He said he had everything he needed then left.¡± ¡°Weird,¡± he says, placing his hand over the mug then closing his eyes. Kai¡¯s head falls back and he goes still except for his lips, which make the same movements over and over. It looks like he''s chanting something, but I can''t hear if he''s actually saying words. When his eyes open again, they are glowing with a green energy. The tattoos are pulsing with his chants, slowly starting to twitch. One of them moves down his arm, the other figures shifting to make a path. A snake slithers down the path created for it, then coils itself at his wrist. Its head slides over the back of his hand. It makes a jerking motion. Real fangs push and protrude from Kai''s palm. A drop from each fang falls into the liquid before they retract, and the snake retreats. It creeps back up his arm and coils, resting by his shoulder now. I held my breath when the liquid was on the fangs. It seemed like one of those precarious ¡®don¡¯t breathe too hard or you¡¯ll mess this up¡¯ kinda things. Kai closes his eyes for a second and opens them again. I watch as they return to normal. He picks up the cup, swirling the liquid again. "Make sure she drinks this. All of it.¡± He hands the cup to me. ¡°It won''t help with the withdrawal, but she won''t get any of the nastier side effects." "Thanks, man. I gotta tell ya, it''s really a wonder to watch you work," I say in slight awe of his complete control over his abilities. He smirks. "You should see the guy who trained me. I''m not even close to his level." I shrug, not knowing what to say but, "What do I owe you?" Kai considers his inventory as he packs up. "Maybe," he says slowly, dragging out the word, "Two-hundred?" I almost choke."For this? Shi¨CI don''t have that on me, man." He frowns and raises an eyebrow, "Hm, well, you could owe me a favor, redeemable when I need it." I don''t like that. I don''t like owing favors to anyone. Especially when said favor is not agreed upon in advance. But Kai has always been pretty honest about his business and doesn''t seem like the kind of guy to send anyone on a dangerous favor. I fight against myself in my head for a few moments, then nod. "Alright, but nothin'' crazy." He smiles."Crazy ain''t my style, bruh." We talk while the brew finishes settling, then I thank him for everything and walk him out. I pick up the cup and surprisingly, it is warm to the touch. I walk back to Anna''s bedroom and call her name before entering. "Anna? You awake?" I hear shifting in the blankets. But it stops abruptly at the sound of my voice. "Mike? Is that you?" is what I think I hear. She''s still slurring a bit. "Yeah, I brought you something warm to drink. Can I come in?" "Uh," I hear her checking her clothes and pulling up the blankets, "Yeah . . . that''s fine." I walk into the room and hand her the cup, making sure she can actually grasp it before I let go. "How? I . . . I don''t remember leaving work." "You passed out right as we walked outside. You managed to ask me to take you home." I lie. "I''m sorry to invade the privacy of your home. This was never how I thought I''d be invited over. Not that I . . . uh." Awkward trail off complete. Today is not my day. "It''s totally ok." "You didn''t have a fever, so I thought maybe you should decide if you wanted to go to the hospital or anything." She looks herself over."I''m not sure yet." I glance at the mug. "You should drink that tea." I have no idea if that''s what it is. "I promise it''ll make you feel better." She looks at it now. "Oh, yeah. Thanks." She takes a small drink and closes her eyes, savoring it. A small moan escapes, "Oh, that is good! What is this?" "Family secret, can''t tell ya," I say, smiling. She smiles and brings the mug up to her lips for another drink. "Well, if you''re feeling better, I think I''m gonna go. The drink will help, so drink it all, okay?" Was that creepy? There was probably a better way to say that. "Sure, thanks for all your help, Mike. I''m not sure what would''ve happened if you weren''t around." "Someone would''ve helped, I''m sure. Probably would''ve just called an ambulance, though." "Well, I appreciate it nonetheless. Thanks." "You''re welcome, see you later." "Mike? One more thing?" "Yeah?" "Did I fall when I passed out? I feel like I hit my head.¡± She rubs her back, ¡°and a few other spots." "Uh," my eyes flick conspiratorially from side to side, "Nope, you didn''t fall when you passed out. . . Bye," I say, and leave the apartment, leaving my number on her counter and locking the door before I close it behind me. Chapter 3: Beat up by rocks That was stressful. I don¡¯t have a lot of run-ins with others like me anymore, but lately it seems to be ramping up. The drive home takes a while, and this time, it¡¯s not because of the snow. I keep rewinding the events of the day in my head. I''m glad it''s over. I knew today was going to be crappy from the start, but geez. I didn''t expect an incubus to show up and use one of my coworkers for sustenance. It''s dark when I pull into my driveway and there¡¯s a car I don''t recognize parked in front of my place. I subtly check it out while walking toward my stairs. I can''t see much more than the frame, but it is definitely running. It''s an old American muscle car. A camaro, I think around mid 70s body style. It''s black with polished chrome rims and a hood scoop. Some people would look at this and drool; others would think overcompensating. I''ll withhold judgement until I see the owner myself. The blacked-out window tinting makes it hard to see if someone is staring back at me, so I turn to watch where I''m going. I''ve seen this car before, but I can''t remember where; my synapses aren''t firing right now. I look toward my house and see someone walk past a window in muted flashlight illumination. I look back at the car, then creep up to my door. It''s clear that it has been kicked open. These thieves have no idea who they''re messing with. I push the door open and run in. In hindsight, I probably should have been more inconspicuous, maybe more cautious. But I was expecting your average, everyday thief. Y''know, vanilla human. Instead, I ran right into a rock flying at me. At least that''s what I thought when it hit me in the face. It wasn''t actually a rock. It was a fist made of it. A fist that belonged to a very large gargoyle. I fall backward and my head bounces off the floor. Two identical gargoyles look down at me, but it¡¯s just my double vision. ¡°Rocky?¡± I say, shaking my haze away, checking my lips with a hand and looking up at him. ¡°What the hell?¡± ¡°How many times I gotta tell ya, Mikey. That''s not my name,¡± he says in his deep gravelly voice. I don''t ever remember his real name; he''s ancient and it''s too hard to pronounce. My nickname never really bothered him or I would have stopped. But I am curious why he''s snooping through my house. ¡°What the hell are you doin¡¯ here, man?¡± I ask. He shrugs and motions to his left with a flick of his head. ¡°Workin''.¡± I look in the direction he is gesturing toward. I can''t see a face in the darkness, but I can see silver hair. ¡°So these are ya digs, eh Mike? Nice place ya got here.¡± he says, looking around. ¡°If we could dispatch with the pleasantries,¡± The silver leech cuts in, glaring at Rocky. He turns his attention to me. ¡°I did hope that we could avoid this, Mikael. I thought you''d be taking care of that girl for the better part of the evening. Did she expire?¡± The question has no weight behind it. He doesn''t really care what the answer is. I don''t say anything. I''m not really sure what to say. The implication that he would kill someone just to stall me is, well, it''s just wrong. I can''t believe it. He studies my face. ¡°Did you think your little defense actually stopped me? You have no idea how to use that little power you have, do you?¡± I still don''t speak. My hands are trembling with anger against my legs. They are balled into fists and squeezed so tight that I''m pretty sure my nails are drawing blood from my own palms. My teeth feel like they''ll crack under the pressure of my clenched jaw, and my blood is boiling. I feel almost nauseated with fury. I need to rein in my rage before my other half gets the better of me. ¡°Fine. We''ll get right to the point,¡± he says, walking toward me. I wait to let him get into striking distance. I want to rip out his throat, but he stops about two yards away. I get ready anyway. ¡°Where is it, half-breed?¡± he snarls, baring his perfect teeth. His animosity takes me by surprise. What does he have to be so angry about? ¡°Wait, what?¡± I ask, before thinking to choose my words carefully. ¡°Don''t play games with me, you pitiful excuse for a demon! Your sister said you had it, where is it?¡± ¡°What? Look, man. You''ve got the wrong ''half-breed.'' I don''t have a sister, and I don''t have a clue what you''re talking about.¡± ¡°Hit him,¡± the leech tells Rocky, who looks at me and shrugs, turning up one side of his mouth. ¡°Sorry, Mikey,¡± he says. He swings hard into my stomach, and I see white. If you''ve never been hit by a stone golem or a gargoyle, consider yourself lucky. It hurts. A lot. The air leaves my lungs, and I''m pretty sure I throw up a little bit. I splutter and cough. I can''t breathe. My lungs are screaming at me, but my body won''t respond. After an interminable amount of time, I suck in a deep, ragged, gasping breath and start another round of coughing. ¡°Wow, even though you know him, you really didn''t hold back. That was brilliant,¡± The Silverleech says, grinning. Rocky doesn¡¯t respond, just keeps his stance. The incubus turns back to me. ¡°Now, tell me, Mikael. Tell me where it is.¡± He bares his teeth again, which are more like fangs now. He¡¯s losing his impeccable facade. ¡°I can tell you where it isn''t,¡± I rasp when I can talk again. I''m still pretty winded, so it may not have even been audible. I see the leech nod at Rocky and the animate statue brings his fist up for another swing. ¡°Whoa, wait!¡± I say, putting my hands up. It was an involuntary action. I have no idea what this guy wants, but I really don''t want Rocky to hit me again. I''m trying to buy time to think of something to say. But it''s no use. ¡°Well?¡± the Incubus gets closer. I don''t have anything. Time to strike. ¡°I don''t know what you''re looking for, but I do have this.¡± I summon the reserves of energy I keep inside and launch myself at him. I boost the punch with my reserved strength right before it connects. But, alas--the gargoyle was behind me waiting for such a move. There¡¯s a sharp pain in my scalp, and I fall to the floor. Everything goes dark. I hear them talking as I lose consciousness. ¡°I don''t think he''s got it, boss,¡± says Rocky. ¡°Hmm, I don¡¯t remember paying you to think. But, I suppose you may be right. That wench must have lied to me. Well, nothing to be done for it now. Kill him.¡± ¡°I can''t do that. I don''t kill. I told you that.¡± The Incubus sighs. ¡°Well, I can''t either. Father wouldn''t like it.¡± I fight to stay awake, but sweet sleep lulls me away. I wake up with a stiff neck and a sore back from being on the floor. Gargoyle fists should be avoided at all costs. There¡¯s a knot on my head that feels like it¡¯s the size of an ostrich egg, and my stomach hurts. I hiss at the sting of my hand against the lump and jerk away quickly. Turns out, it¡¯s only the size of a quarter. How long have I been laying here? I got home at around nine o''clock. When I check my watch, it shows it is now well after midnight. It''s too bad being unconscious isn¡¯t restful, because it''s probably the only sleep I''ll get tonight. When your house is broken into, suddenly you feel like the whole world is unsafe. Like, if things can get to you here, they can get you anywhere. That''s the first effect. And the spirits I have to deal with are bad, but they don¡¯t make me feel like this. The second effect is the cleanup. It sucks. My place is trashed. A lack of a threshold barrier is an unfortunate side effect of being damned. Aside from the obvious. Supernatural creatures don''t get one. Any of them. It''s mostly for humans. Not many are alive today that were around when this law was created. It was put into place by some long dead wizard council. Most wizards are humans. Other creatures that can use magic, but are ¡®tainted¡¯ by supernatural blood, are called sorcerers. That''s what I would be if I embraced that side of me and the magic that comes with it. So these human wizards made the threshold law so that people would be protected in their homes. It¡¯s some big magic that I¡¯m sure some unsavory creatures wish they could get rid of, but this hasn¡¯t happened¨Cyet. Anywhere else is fair game though. My house used to have the threshold power, but as soon as my mother signed the house over to me and moved out of town, it faded quickly. That''s when the ghosts and spirits started making their way to me. While she''s living it up in Florida, as a lot of Ohioans end up doing, I''m here getting haunted, beat up by rocks, and my house is getting trashed. You know¨Cjust livin'' the good life. I take stock of everything I think I own. I keep my place tidy usually and try to make it look homey so that, in the unlikely event I bring someone home, it doesn¡¯t look like a serial killer lives here. The furniture is a collection of goodwill buys and yard sales that came as close to matching as I felt like making it. I have pictures of young me, me with my mom, and me in grade school throughout the living room. No other rooms are decorated as much. They are kept in a state of efficiency rather than displaying an aesthetic. I walk through each room, coming to the conclusion that it all seems to be here. I don''t really keep anything to tie me to my demonic half, because I make an effort to be human. So I have no idea what that assbag was looking for, but I''m an only child: no sisters, no brothers. I''m not sure what he and this mystery woman were fighting about, but it was none of my business. That ''wench'' should''ve kept me out of it. My life won¡¯t stay quiet while they are around. I have to find out what the hell is going on so I don¡¯t get any more unexpected visits. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. By the time I''ve finished cleaning and taking breaks here and there, it''s late afternoon. I should be getting ready for work, but I think I''m gonna call off. I''m feeling a little murderous today and I don''t think I can be civil to people. Besides, it''s time to investigate. I was forced into a game without any explanation or an understanding of how to play. That means I get to make up my own rules. I like making my own rules. I get into the shower and clean yesterday off of me. There''s even some hot water¨Cor maybe I''m just burning angry right now. Whichever the case, I feel better afterward. I sit in the steamy bathroom for a couple of minutes and take deep breaths, collecting my thoughts. A mentor of mine taught me some meditation techniques for when my other half gets a foot in the door. I employ them to get into a better headspace. When I finally do come out into my bedroom, the cold air is an assault on my senses. The thermostat clicks when I turn the heat up. Walking downstairs and into the living room, I rummage for a notepad and pencil from my desk drawer, then sit down with my towel wrapped around me. It¡¯s time to make a list. I write: ''What I know,'' and underline it. Underneath, I write the things I''ve gleaned from the brief encounter, which are: I¡¯m missing a lot of information. So I make a second column on the right side of the paper and write: ''What I need to find out,'' and underline it. This side of the list will be harder, because as of yet, I have no details. So I write: That last one is the most important to me. I keep as far away from demon and non-human affairs as possible. I feel like it''s super weird to involve me in this when I''ve had no contact since I was a teen. It''s not a fun story. I once made the mistake of trying to summon my father so I could tell him off. I may have been a bit angsty, so what? I was young and inexperienced, and I botched the summoning, which resulted in a neighborhood block being terrorized by a ¡°Big Dog.¡± At least that''s what the reports said. It was actually a hellhound. And to be fair, they are really big dog-ish creatures. I think it''s still out there somewhere. Once it came through the gateway I created, I ran. Like I said, I was young and dumb. I never told anyone about it, and I haven¡¯t heard anything about it in the news or anything, so maybe it just ran too? I mean, it''s not like random humans would know how to kill it. And I never even got to talk to the old man, so it was all for naught. Other than that, yeah, no contact. I sit back and look at the notepad. I know: Nothing. I need to find out: Everything. Great. Time to get started. I need clothes. I go back upstairs to my room and pull some pants from my closet. I pick up a few shirts from the floor and sniff them, hoping there¡¯s a cleanish one. On my way back out, my stomach rumbles loudly and I put a hand to it and pain spreads through my abdomen. I have a pretty large purpling bruise there. I''ve been up all night and most of this day without eating. I''m hungry. I walk back through the house, and glance into the now-clean living room as I pass by. I do a double take, but my momentum carries me past the wall. I stop and lean back to look in. I could have sworn I saw a woman with dark curly-ringlet hair sitting on my recliner. It better not be another frickin'' ghost. I¡¯ve got more pressing matters to deal with right now. I shrug it off and walk over to open my fridge. I stare at the emptiness for some time before closing it. My priorities have changed. Investigating is now number two. Food is number one. The question is, do I go to the store, or pick up fast food? I really don''t want to go grocery shopping hungry¨Cit''s not good for my wallet. By that, I also mean I don''t want to go shopping, then come home and wait until whatever I buy is done cooking. In this modern age, I demand instant gratification. It''s a sad time. I pick up my keys and head outside to another cold morning. It''s warmer than yesterday and there''s no ice¨Cjust melting snow. At least I don¡¯t have to baby waddle to my car. The car on the curb is no longer there. Must have been the Incubus¡¯s. I want to say he¡¯s clearly overcompensating, but they are literally made to be beautiful, so . . . I open my car door easily and am about to get in when I see something shiny sticking out of my wheel port on the front driver''s side. Upon closer inspection, I see that a beautifully detailed hilt belonging to a knife is protruding from the tire. Fantastic. I pull the knife out of the tire, and there is a piece of paper wrapped around the handle tied with a short piece of twine. I untie it, unravel the paper, and it reads, ¡°Hope you had sweet dreams. Next time, your sleep will be eternal.¡± I shake my head. Who is this guy? He had me knocked out and took the time to threaten me afterward? Now I have more questions. But my resolve is solidifying. I turn around and walk to my garage, fumbling with my keys until I find the right one. I try to push the key in, but it''s not going easily. I''m not gonna try to do the breath thing again, so I just push hard, and the key finally slides in the rest of the way. I unlock it and the doors creak in protest. They haven¡¯t been opened in months. They start to swing open but stop short. There are chunks of ice blocking them from opening. Pushing the doors closed again, I kick the ice chunks away and they open unhindered. Inside there''s mostly a lot of boxes in here that have stuff my mom didn''t want to move with her, but there are also some old tools and random junk that I really need to get rid of. I move some stuff around and spot my spare. I don''t really want to take the one out of my trunk because then I''d have to replace it again. So I roll it out and get to work changing the tire. It takes a while because the lugs take a lot to break and turn in the cold weather. I don''t mind, though. The more I have to deal with, the angrier I¡¯ll get. The angrier I get, the hotter I''ll run. And I mean that literally. It¡¯s a cycle of annoyances like these that keep me warm in the winter. I roll the flat to the garage and lock it up again. I''m finally ready to start the day. I get into the car and turn it on. My hunger takes me to the nearest fast food place, and I devour more greasy food and Coke than I should. When you''re hungry, sometimes you make bad decisions. Oh well. I throw the wrappers and trash away in a trash can next to my car, then wait for my stomach to realize it has food in it. I need to find someone who knows what¡¯s going on with the otherworld¨Csomeone who hears all the gossip. Someone who can perhaps impart some useful information to me. Preferably free information. And I have someone in mind, but for that I need to wait for nightfall. I start to flip through my phone out of bored anxiety and see Anna''s name. I hope she''s doing alright. She''ll be going through some heavy withdrawals right now. I wish I could check up on her, but I¡¯ll wait until she messages me. I drive downtown to one of the many very tall office buildings. I''m pretty sure this is where he sleeps. I walk inside and check out the lobby. Right when you come inside, there¡¯s a little fountain in the middle next to a security desk. There¡¯s stairs leading up on either side of the building and open pathways where people walking to different areas are easily seen. There¡¯s a hallway in front of me that leads to an elevator bank. I look at my watch. It''s a little past five pm, and there are a lot of people on their way out. I walk up to the elevator to wait for the doors to open. Security guards at the check-in desk are eying me warily, but they don''t seem to want to stop me. One of them talks into a walkie, probably calling up to make me someone else''s problem. Thank God for end-of-the-workday laziness. The elevator doors chime and open. I step aside, and after the flood of people exit, I walk in and hit the button for the top floor. Oldies play on the speakers while I ride up. How does he get in and out of this place? You''d think it''d be hard, this building is like twelve storeys high. Someone would have to see him coming and going. It takes a while to get to the top. When I get out, there are a few people packing items into briefcases, and they look over at me. Security on this floor is walking toward me. Luckily, I don''t have to think of how to ditch them. My salvation comes in the form of an executive-looking man holding a stack of papers. ¡°Ah, perfect,¡± he says, looking me over and putting the papers in my hand. ¡°I need these sent to¨C¡± I stop listening. They are going right into the trash. I just nod like I''m supposed to be here until he stops talking. ¡°Got it?¡± ¡°Yes, sir. Right away, sir,¡± I say and scurry away like I assume I should. The security officers stop and speak into their walkies and ignore my established peon presence. I search around for a few minutes with the papers, hoping no one will give me any more. Luckily, no one does. Once I¡¯m clear of anyone¡¯s line of sight, I drop them into the nearest trash can and continue my search. The sun sets pretty early in the winter, and the light outside is dimming. After hours lights are turning on, but I finally find the door to the stairs and take them up to go out onto the roof. I look around at the figures perched up here. They all look the same. I feel a little racist for saying that. I go and stand by one of them and wait. As the sun dips below the horizon, the feral power of evening is nearly palpable as it washes over the city. I watch the figure next to me. ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I say, waiting. How do they get up here? They couldn¡¯t have taken the same path I did, how would that even work? I shiver as the temperature goes down. ¡°Mikey?¡± I hear from behind me. I turn and see Rocky standing about twenty or so feet from me with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Whadda ya doin'' here, kid?¡± I look at the statue next to me and it turns its head to look back. ¡°Uh, nothin'', man. I was coming to see you,¡± I say walking toward him. ¡°You thought that was me, didn''t ya?¡± I sigh. ¡°No, I . . . Yeah, sorry.¡± The statue behind me chuckles. ¡°S''ok, all you''s guys look the same tuh us too. Whatcha here for? You wanna hit me back?¡± he asks. I can''t tell if he''s serious. ¡°It did hurt a lot.¡± ¡°It was just business, Mikey. You know that. I didn''t kill ya or nothin''.¡± I think he thinks that makes it better, but I''m not here to fight him. ¡°That''s not why I''m here. Well, not to fight you anyway. I need some info on the guy you were with.¡± Rocky looks around with just his eyes. ¡°I can''t do that, buddy,¡± he says, and turns to walk toward his perch, ¡°It''s bad for business.¡± I follow him over to the edge of the building and he turns back to me. ¡°Not here, man. Meet me at Sweet Vic''s,¡± he whispers, ¡°I¡¯ll be there for a few hours tonight.¡± I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly there are loud grinding sounds and wings burst from his back. He jumps off the edge and disappears into the fading light. So that''s how they get in and out. I didn''t know they could do that. I look around and watch the other Gargoyles do the same. Watching giant creatures made of rock fly through the air is truly bizarre. I pull on the handle of the door to the roof. It''s locked. I hate everything. Chapter 4: An offer I couldnt refuse I pull up to the place about an hour later. I feel sorry for the janitor or security or whoever was still in the building, but they will have a hell of a story to tell. I tried to find a non-destructive way to get down from the building after locking myself onto the roof but, with it being so cold out, there weren''t many options. In the end, I had to tap into my demonic blood and rip the door off the hinges. Then I ran like a bat out of . . . well, I feel that this phrase loses something when applied to me. I ran like crazy down the stairs and out of the building all the while burning from the effort of using that side of me to fuel my speed. I had to look like a smoking red blaze. Burning is the name the ¡®bad kids¡¯ I hung out with when I was younger called my power when I embraced my infernal heritage. I literally do burn when I use too much. I''m not hurt by it--it just burns my clothes away and augments my body. If I go even deeper, it has more effects on my physical appearance. I haven''t done that in a long time because of the proprietor of the place I''m going into. A place called Sweet Vic¡¯s. Sweet Vic''s brands itself as a den of beauty and pleasure. It''s more or less a strip club for the things that go bump in the night. Or the day. The things that go bump, I guess. Anyway, it''s not my preferred place, but that''s because of the owner, not a sense of impropriety or anything. Plus, there are way worse places to meet. The building isn''t tall, but it is very long. It sprawls across nearly a whole block and is one of the most well kept buildings in the area. But that¡¯s only if you can see it. Vic¡¯s has been many places but currently, it occupies the space where there used to be a mall. The North Towne Square mall. It was was closed in 2005 and was demolished immediately. Vic¡¯s took this space and has been there since. To those who haven¡¯t been invited, however, the abandoned mall stayed up until 2013 when it was then made to look like it was being demolished. I walk up to the front door, and a bouncer puts a hand up and blocks my path. He seems human, but even if he is some human, I know that''s not all he is. I also know their method for checking species at that door and I hate it. He pulls a rod out of his jacket pocket and waves it in front of my face. My senses go crazy as it passes. A familiar burn starts from within and I know my demon is showing. The bouncer looks me over, nods, and flicks his head toward the door. ¡°You''re good. No fighting inside. No soliciting the dancers for more than a personal dance and no touching unless you''re asked,¡± he says. I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Does that actually happen?¡± He shrugs. ¡°Sometimes. A few have lost fingers or more. It''s for your protection as well as the dancers. Just, be cool." I nod and walk in, stifling the flames that smolder in my gut. I pay the girl at the front desk, and she smiles. ¡°Have a great time!¡± she says, more excited than the occasion calls for, but that''s just me. I wonder if she actually likes her job that much? I politely smile back and turn to walk inside through a set of black out curtains hanging from a rod. Meandering around I look out for Rocky, but can''t help staring at the dancers. There''s a serpent woman doing a human show. I''m not sure what I would''ve thought a ''snake woman doing a human show'' would look like, but whatever it was, I was wrong. She''s got a human ''pet'' and they''re doing an act, but I don''t get how it could be entertaining. I think it''s kind of weird, but she has a pretty big crowd watching her intensely. I also see a succubus with tail and wings on display, a mermaid in a tank half submerged and half nude, and a leopard looking woman. They are all doing different things that aren''t necessarily stripping. There is at least a small crowd for each with both men and women watching. Everyone is into something, I suppose. I''ve only been to this side of the club, but I''ve been told that the other side of the building is an all male staff strip club. I wonder if they do the same thing over there, but I haven''t been curious enough to go see yet. I keep glancing around and finally spot Rocky sitting in a booth in a corner of the large room. As I approach, a waitress comes to drop off his drink. ¡°Hey, honey,¡± she says when I sit down. ¡°What can I getcha'' to drink?¡± There¡¯s a slight southern lilt to her speech that¡¯s not common in the area. It makes me wonder what got her here but, I don¡¯t ask. I give her my order, ¡°A whiskey sour with crown royal and two cherries.¡± I say with a small smile. It''s my favorite drink. She smiles, nods, and walks away and I turn to Rocky. ¡°So, Rock, what''s goin'' on?¡± ¡°Mikey, you shouldn''t have come up to the Roost. We got rules, y''know. What were you thinkin''?¡± I look him in the eyes. It''s very hard to gauge the feeling or expression of a living rock. I just see the same face as when he''s frozen during the daylight. ¡°I was thinking,¡± I start counting on my fingers, ¡°I didn''t like getting knocked out. I didn¡¯t like having my house trashed. I didn¡¯t like having my co-worker nearly killed and I don¡¯t want to go into debt fixing my house or car for someone''s messed up little game,¡± I say, still trying to read his face. He looks around and takes a sip of his drink. ¡°It was nothin'' personal,¡± he says and I put my hand up. ¡°If you say it was just business, I will make sure you wake up with a horse head on your stoop. C''mon, I need some information.¡± He takes another drink and looks around. I notice that his eyes keep falling to the same place. I glance back without drawing attention to the motion and see a cloaked figure sitting across the bar. The hood of the cloak makes a shadow in the dark club that dips just below the nose. I can''t see the face, but the jaw is definitely humanoid and covered in flesh. I look back at Rocky and gesture with my eyes. He shrugs and his attention is back on me. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°It was though, man. He gave me an offer I couldn''t refuse.¡± I put my hand up again. ¡°Rocky, I''ve always called you Rocky because of your mannerisms. They remind me of that bugs bunny cartoon with Mugsy and Rocky.¡± And I''ve always wondered how an ancient being like yourself settles on a seemingly Brooklyn or movie mobster accent, I think to myself. But we don''t have time for that. ¡°But this mafioso shtick is getting to me at the moment. How could he offer you something you couldn''t refuse?¡± ¡°It was a day pass, Mikey. I can go out in the sun on a day of my choosing. And I''ll look human, so, y''know, no pitchforks and mobs comin'' after me. It was a solid deal.¡± I pause at this. I''ve never had to be confined to only darkness. I can''t imagine what that''s like. The creatures that are bound to the night have it hard, I''ll give them that. It is not something that I could take if it were forced on me now. I can understand why some of them go on rampages every now and again. ¡°And I''m sorry about your place. He said he needed muscle to get back somethin'' that was stolen from him. I didn''t know it was your house, not that that makes a difference, but it was an important payday. I couldn''t pass it up. But I didn''t kill ya. That''s gotta be worth somethin''? Right?¡± He repeats what he said earlier today almost verbatim. I swear, this guy is made of wiseguy cliches. His heart is mostly in the right place. Although I have no idea what Gargoyle anatomy looks like. The waitress comes back over and drops off my drink. "Anything else I can get for ya, Sugar?" I shake my head. "No, but thanks.¡± She nods and walks away. I watch for a second then turn back to him, taking a slow sip of my drink. Ah, that''s good. I needed this. I look into his dark eyes and continue. ¡°I understand, Rocky. But I still need information. Do you have a name or anything I could use?¡± He rubs his chin and it makes a grinding sound. Some flecks of stone fall into his drink and others plink off the table. ¡°He never told me his name. I''m not sure.¡± ¡°Rock, do you actually not know? Or are you fishing for some money? Cuz, I''ve gotta tell you, I have no patience for that. And by patience, I mean money. I have no money. If I did, I''d have had someone else find him for me.¡± Rocky chuckles under his breath. ¡°Can''t blame a guy for tryin'', huh? Alright, Mikey. I got some advice for ya then--Let it go. To offer me somethin'' big like that, this guy''s gotta be--or gotta know--some heavy hitters. We ain''t ezackly friends, but I''ve seen worse demons than you and I don''t like seein'' nobody get killed.¡± There''s another expression I can''t quite read, but if I had to guess it looks . . . Sad? His eyes flick to the same spot once more, and it seems they follow some movement. I match his gaze with my periphery and watch the figure walk away. ¡°And I don''t like the feeling that I''ve been watched eva since I did the job for this guy, neither.¡± He sits back and crosses his arms. I have a feeling that that''s all I''m going to get out of him and I sit back too, huffing out a breath. I look around while thinking of something to say. The women dancing have changed out while we were talking, and the crowds have moved around. I take a few sips, then down the rest of my drink and chew on the cherries. After a few more rounds of silence between us, I decide it''s time to go. ¡°Well, I''m gonna go find my answers elsewhere,¡± I say and stand up. He grabs my arm and looks up at me. ¡°I''m gonna tell ya one more time, Mikey. Let this one go. You''re gonna get yourself really hurt or killed.¡± It''s weird that he seems so intent on telling me to let it go. I can''t tell if it''s genuine concern, or if he''s still ''on the job.'' Regardless, I''m sure he knows that I''m not going to take his advice. I can''t. It''s not a matter of pride or anything. I''ve been screwed with before. That, I totally can just let go. But one of my co-workers was brought into this. These remorseless beings care nothing if they take a human life in order to accomplish something small. I hate it when uninitiated humans are caught in any kind of monster or magic activity. They can''t comprehend what''s going on, and they really have no defense. I don''t remember most of the time I spent burning. But I do get flashes of the last people I hurt. We never killed, and that was supposed to be the fun of it. The couple we attacked only saw our demonic forms. I remember the delight I had at my prey¡¯s hopelessness. Of them knowing we could do anything we want, and they can''t do a damn thing to stop us. We disabled their car and toyed with them like cats playing with a mouse. Leaving scars from burns and cuts, and stories that no one would believe. I shiver at the brief remembrance. Of course, some of us can be stopped by bullets and other manner of weaponry. But that''s if the prey is lucky. Even then, there''s a chance that their mind can break. Most human''s minds are ill-equipped to deal with the supernatural. One encounter and they could have psychological complications for the rest of their life, if their aggressor lets it last that long. A lot of problems are caused by a brush with the supernatural. People know if they tell anyone, they''ll either be a laughing stock or be committed. There''s really no win when you have an encounter like that. But, I suppose, there are humans that do that to each other too. Sometimes the world is really messed up. Speaking of, I should see Anna tomorrow. I think she works. I can''t take another day off, and I''ll need to make sure no one else was caught up in this. If the other demons involved hurt someone else I know to get to me, there will be hell to pay. ¡°I can''t, Rock. They involved people close to me.¡± He nods and lets go of my arm. ¡°I understand that. Tell ya what, let''s say I owe ya one. Anything you need, ¡®cept my usual rules. I don''t break those for nothin'' or nobody. But only after I get my payment from that incubus. Okay?¡± ¡°Owing a demon any favor is a dangerous thing. You sure?¡± He laughs outright. ¡°You seem like an okay guy, Mike. I think I''ll take my chances.¡± I don''t say anything. For the most part, I think I''m a good person. We''ll see if I stay that way by the end of this thing. It¡¯s hard not to look at the world through rose-colored goggles sometimes when the world hasn¡¯t been the best to you. And if the past twenty-four hours was any indication of how this is gonna go, I¡¯ll need some thicker skin. But maybe I can use his favor to my advantage. Like, maybe when Kai calls in his favor, I can have Rock handle it? Hmm. There may be something there. I''ll put a pin in that and focus on my problem now. I''m in this. I can¡¯t back down and take the chance that someone I know will pay the price for knowing me. I have to find out who¡¯s behind this and why I¡¯m in the middle of it. The next step for me: Contact the local wizards guild and see if they can get an identity on the owner of the knife. Rocky and I shake hands, and I walk away. I''m almost at the door when I hear someone say my name. ¡°Hello, Mikael.¡± The voice makes me stop in my tracks. ¡°I didn''t expect to ever see you here.¡± Uh oh. Chapter 5: This place isnt for everyone No matter what, I always feel like I¡¯m in trouble when I hear her say my name. I turn around and my eyes drink in her features. Sweet Vic is, well, I don''t know what. Her physique is what some would call the peak of the human form, but she''s definitely not human. I knew of her when I was younger, just like everyone knows her club, everyone knows Vic is not someone you cross. I made some mistakes and was made aware why she has such a reputation. I met her after my mother told me that my father was a demon. That was a hell of a conversation. To be told you¡¯re a demon and think they mean it figuratively. She had to explain it literally that I was a child of an actual demon. I didn¡¯t ask for details of how I was made this way. Because, gross. I also didn¡¯t take the news well. She had to tell me because it was starting to manifest. That¡¯s when I found others like me, other demonspawn. We raged together and I thought I couldn¡¯t be stopped. I was a hot-headed teenager making lots of problems and even more mistakes before I was forced to meet Vic personally. After some particularly bad calls, it was inevitable that I would either get myself killed by messing with the wrong people or I¡¯d have a moment of reckoning. Vic was my moment of reckoning. I was learning to use my power, really leaning in. But I was learning through . . . unethical means. Half-humans, in most cases, are stronger, faster, and more durable than your garden variety human. But as we embrace the other side of us, as we take from them, they also take from us. The cost differs for everyone. Depending on your parentage and your environment, it may not be a bad thing. But for the demons I hung out with, we became more savage and gave in to our whims and desires. It was cool when I was a kid. It wasn''t cool, however, for my mom to hear of the things I''d done or the people I''d hurt. I thought I had superpowers. I thought I could be a hero. I learned the hard way that, the more I used, the more I lost myself. I kept justifying it, thinking I''d have my fun now then change as I grew. I didn''t make it that far, it just kept getting worse. At my very worst, my mom reached out for help, and Sweet Vic answered. Sweet Vic, or Madam Victoria as we had to call her, is like a philanthropist for the supernatural community. She takes in troubled youths and tries to reform them. I bucked pretty hard at her program, and she made an example out of me. She showed a few of us that wouldn''t let ourselves be tamed what real power was. And it scared the living shit out of me. I thought I was tough, but she was on a level I couldn''t even comprehend. For all my bluster, it meant nothing to her. To this day, I don''t remember what happened when I tried her. But my body and mind both know to be afraid and to treat her with respect. ¡°Good evening, Madam Victoria. A pleasure, as always,¡± I say with a bow, putting every ounce of respect and fear I feel for her into my tone. At this point, it''s involuntary. She is wearing a very form fitting and low cut crimson colored dress with a slit in the sides nearly up to her waist, exposing her legs and as much tan skin as she wants while leaving very little else to the imagination. She didn''t wear things like this when instructing in her program, but this is what she looks like at work. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders in loose waves and curls and she has it tucked behind one ear. I''ve been told that she looks and sounds different to different people. Like a succubus, whatever you find attractive, that''s what she is. But it''s not as simple as that with her. It''s more. She plays the part for the establishment she runs, but she is by no means a woman you should drunkenly hit on. She made this place because we all need a place to relax and let our monster flag fly. And she''s been in business so long because, as I said, you don''t mess with Sweet Vic. ¡°You know you don''t have to call me that anymore. You''re not in my program. You can call me Vic, or Victoria like everyone else.¡± I straighten, and guiltily look her over again as I do. ¡°As you say, Madam Victoria--I mean--¡± Oops. She laughs and it is a wonderful sound. Genuine laughter, the kind that makes you smile or laugh too, is great. Genuine laughter tailored to be perfect to your ears . . . no metaphor does it justice. ¡°It seems I''m catching you on your way out?¡± she says in the form of a question. I nod. ¡°Yeah, I don''t usually come to places like this.¡± I try to stop the words but they spill out. She raises an eyebrow. ¡°I mean, I don''t . . . I usually . . . eh.¡± I close my mouth. It''s better this way. She smiles and tilts her head. ¡°I understand that this place isn''t for everyone,¡± she says. I let out a small sigh of relief that she isn¡¯t offended. I glance up and meet her appraising eyes, but only for a second. I always keep my eyes from meeting hers reflexively. She has beautiful amber colored eyes, but there is something them that makes it feel like her gaze is boring into you, that she is learning your secrets and innermost desires. It leaves you feeling naked. So I try to avoid it. There is a lot of her I don''t mind staring at, anyway if I''m being perfectly honest. ¡°Have I ever told you that you have been one of the best reformed students I''ve ever had?¡± I don''t think she has, but if I say no, does that mean I''m looking for a compliment? Does that even make sense? It''s hard to think straight at the moment, so I can''t tell. ¡°I don''t believe you have, Mada--Vic.¡± ¡°Well, you are. You have not had any relapses. Well, not any bad ones." She says raising a finger, "You have kept yourself relatively out of trouble.¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. I nod, accepting the praise. ¡°Thank you, Madam,¡± I say, and my cheeks start burning. Only she can make a demon-man blush. ¡°Well,¡± she says, ¡°Keep up the good work.¡± She saunters off and greets other guests as if our small meeting didn''t just upend my world briefly. I suppose that''s the way it goes for the truly powerful. It may be world shaking for you, but for them, it is only a millisecond of time with a trivial figure. I turn around and walk out of the club, feeling exhausted. Mostly mentally, like I need to sleep something off. Talking to the wizards can wait until tomorrow. On the drive home I see some creatures flying in the night sky. It''s a lot more animated tonight for those of us who know what to look for. When I turn my attention back to the road, my tires squeal and my car stops mere inches from rear-ending someone stopped at a red light. I need to pay more attention while I''m driving. They make a scene of throwing their hands up through their window. I pretend not to see and instead look at the light, waiting and willing it to turn green. We start to move again, and I let the guy in front of me get a few car lengths ahead before starting to move, which elicits a honk from the driver behind me. We don''t get far before we hit another red light. He watches me in his rear view, checking his mirror constantly. I stop paying attention. I lean my head back and rub at my eyes, then the bridge of my nose. My body is beginning to ache as the prospect of sleep gets closer. I open my eyes to check the light. It''s still red. I glance to my left and then double-take. I just saw the same woman that I saw in my house earlier standing on the curb next to my car. This time, I know it. But when I look again, she isn''t there. Ghosts don''t mess with me a lot outside of my home. At least not usually. I''m beginning to think something else is going on here. It gives me a little chill. Or maybe I''m just tired. There''s a honk from behind me again, and I look forward. The light is green and I drive off, looking back occasionally. I don''t see her again. Making it home without an accident, I sit in the car for a while. I''m glad I decided to clean up last night instead of having a mess waiting for me when I get home. It¡¯s what my mom would have expected. I consider calling her and telling her what has been happening. She has always been blunt with me about who my father is. Which, as an adult, I find weird. She had no qualms about telling her pre-teen boy that his dad was a demon lord. Of course, she was a free spirit who didn''t really care about that. She had no concept of good and evil--just saw everyone as inhabitants of the universe. I admire her outlook. It seems to keep her happy. And I''m curious what she would have to say if I told her my sister tried to have me killed. I assume she would be just as confused as I am. I''m not saying that my dad never had any other kids. I''m not naive. I''m just saying that I don''t claim that any of them are my siblings. I don''t know of them, don''t know how many there are, don''t know where they are from and, frankly, I don''t care. I realize I¡¯ve been sitting here longer than I planned. I think I¡¯m just waiting for something to happen. I anxiously watch the windows of my house before leaving the car. Everything seems fine this time and I get out, checking the street. No stray cars pulled up onto the curb, no sign of flashlights indoors, and no obviously kicked-in door. I forgot to get a new handle today. I¡¯ll try to remember to do that tomorrow after work. Making a show of unlocking my door--even though it doesn''t actually stay shut anymore--I walk inside, surveying the room. Everything seems as it was left. Good. I look in the fridge and remember that there¡¯s no food. The fast food from earlier has come back to haunt me. That was a bad choice. I kneel, hoping to find something on the lower levels or hidden in the drawers. No dice. I walk over to the pantry, even though it doesn¡¯t see much use. There''s a lot of expired foodstuffs in here. There is, however, a pack of crackers that, uh, totally aren''t expired. There¡¯s some peanut butter, too. This will have to do. I sit down at my kitchen table and feast on the salty sweet but thoroughly unsatisfying goodness. Another shower sounds divine right now. The burn earlier left me smelling a bit like sulfur. It''s an interesting thing. When I allow the burn to overtake me, it enhances every part of me physically. When I gave in to it the first time, the feeling was . . . Hard to explain. It was like I had never used my body before. The drawback is turning all demonic. It''s a give and take relationship. My demon blood gives me powers, but takes my willpower. Meaning the more savage and sinister aspects of my psyche are brought forth. If used in short bursts, there¡¯s less problem regaining control. If used too much, however, it''s a toss up whether my senses come back or not. I''ve never seen myself at full burn. My friends said my body is taller, my clothes burn away (which is why there¡¯s always a duffel bag in my trunk with changes of clothes), and horns grow in a symmetrical pattern on my head. It''s not the best description, but it''s not like I was the nicest guy in the world when burning, so there weren''t many people that came in contact with me that would want to have a chat with me afterwards. My other half was starting to bleed over into my control. Cruelty and viciousness were breaking through, even when I wasn''t burning. My false sense of control was slipping and almost drove me to hurt my mom. I knew there was a problem, but it had such a strong control over me that it didn¡¯t really matter to me. The whispering disjointed voice inside was making decisions for me. I never want that again. Sweet Vic helped me when I started to become feral. Even after a short burn, I was losing myself. She¡¯s the one that taught me the meditation techniques. She also taught me how to tap into my power, but not fully be consumed by it, gaining little bursts of enhancement when I need it most. She did this by helping me to imagine my demon as not another entity, but an extension of myself. Caging the mental and embracing the physical. I really do owe that woman a lot. I turn on the shower, strip off my clothes, stick a hand in and hallelujah--the water is nice and warm. I hop in and scream a little too high pitched. It turned ice cold in a matter of seconds. Though the shower was cold, the heat has kicked on in the house. It makes my bedroom warmer than my shower was. I lay out some clothes so there¡¯s no need to pick up shirts from the floor and sniff them for freshness in the morning. I check my phone for any missed calls or messages before setting my alarm. To my surprise, there''s a message from an unknown number. It reads: ¡®Hey Mike! This is Anna and this is my number. I wanted to thank you again for helping me home and watching over me until I woke up. That was some next level friendship stuff. I''m sorry, I must''ve gotten you sick. Hope you feel better. See you tomorrow at work!¡¯ I''m glad she seems okay. I''ll sleep easier knowing that all the toxins have left her system. Tomorrow will be a lot with work in the morning, then trying to get some answers. I set my alarm, lay the phone on my nightstand. Finally settling into bed, I close my eyes and start to drift off. I open my eyes when I hear a loud crash and a whisper in my ear. ¡°I''ll swallow your soul.¡± Was that a deadite? Chapter 6: Is this a test? There was a lot of weird energy in the spiritual world. As a result, I barely slept again. I''m heavily considering signing the house back over to my mom. It would save me some grief. I''ve had to deal with this for a couple of years now, but it seems to be getting worse lately--especially when I¡¯m asleep. I wake up to my alarm and my head screams at me that I need more sleep. It¡¯s pounding. My eyes are too heavy to open, but when I finally manage the herculean task, they have that lazy muscle feeling. Sitting up, I rub my face and neck. My body is sore. I reach for the t-shirt and shorts I set aside. I stumble and hop around the room to wrestle the shorts on. Then I realize I have to relieve myself and just let them fall back to the floor before I even bother buttoning them. I want to cancel today. Why do I keep putting off getting groceries? I ask myself when I finally make it downstairs. I''m looking, yet again, through an empty fridge. I suppose I''m not doing it on purpose. It''s been an interesting few days. Right now, though, I need to just pick something up to eat before I have to endure work. The morning workers at the drive-thru on the corner are going to start recognizing my face. There¡¯s not a lot going on when I make it to the bookstore. It¡¯s a slow business day, but after what I¡¯ve been through lately, I¡¯m not at my most personable. I''m anxious and agitated. I keep looking at the clock, hoping it''ll be time to go soon. It was a mistake to wait until today to go. As I muddle through my shift, coworkers ask if I''m okay. I just kind of grunt. They seem to get it. I''m putting some books away when I feel someone behind me. I should probably turn around but, like I said, I¡¯m not in a very ¡®customer service¡¯ mood at the moment. ¡°Can I help you find something?¡± I ask, still concentrating on what I am doing. ¡°Possibly,¡± a deep voice responds, ¡°Do you have any books on necromancy?¡± I snort a little louder than I should. ¡°If we do, they''ll be in the spells and supernatural section.¡± ¡°Hmm, okay,¡± he says. ¡°What about dark auras?¡± ¡°In what respect?¡± ¡°Much like yours, mongrel.¡± The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I whip around. The way it''s spoken made me think it''s the incubus again. Luckily, it isn''t. The wisps in the air tell me it was a spirit and the books pelting me in the back tell me it was an asshole. I turn back around and sigh. The shelves I''ve been organizing are all emptied of their books, and there is now a giant mess on the floor. I get to work picking them up, grumbling angrily while I do. Anna walks up when I''m almost done. ¡°Hey, Mike!¡± she says, which is her normal greeting. It''s good to hear, but she gets the same response my other coworkers get: A grunt. She caught me kneeling as I''m putting a couple of things back on the bottom rows of shelves. In my periphery, I see her look down at the books that remain on the floor, then she looks at me. ¡°You don''t look so well. Are you okay?¡± she asks. Her eyes are squinted and her mouth is in a half frown. She looks genuinely concerned. ¡°I would feel awful if you got what I had after helping me through it.¡± I actually snort at this. ¡°Yeah, I don''t think so,¡± I say. She tilts her head to the side. ¡°What, do you have, like, superhuman immunities or something?¡± She says, rolling her eyes. She means it as a joke, but it''s not far from the truth. I haven''t had a cold in years. It takes a particularly resilient strain to get me sick. And even then, they burn through pretty quickly, never around for more than a day or two. It''s not like a fever is something for me to worry about. ¡°Something like that,¡± I say. I don''t think there will be an incubus trying to seduce me anytime soon. It would be pointless. A benefit of being half demon is that we''re immune to most magic like that. Not magic in general, but abilities like hypnotism and seduction, abilities that twist the mind and take away people¡¯s will. If demons could perform that magic on each other, the hierarchy would be more chaotic than it already is. Anna smiles and shakes her head, letting out a short laugh. ¡°Guys. You¡¯re all the same. All of you are Superman.¡± I look back down at my task. ¡°Super-something,¡± I respond, finishing shelving and standing up to look at her. She looks much better today now that I''m seeing her from my usual vantage point. The last time I saw her, she was pale as a ghost and sweating buckets. Her hair was matted to her head and her eyes couldn''t focus. Now, her color is normal, and she is perhaps even more red in her cheeks than normal. Kai''s ¡°tea¡± really did the trick. ¡°I wanted to say thank you for taking me home and making sure I was settled. It was a very kind gesture.¡± I lean past her and grab another stack of books that can be shelved near me. ¡°No problem,¡± I say. ¡°You needed help, and I was there.¡± She looks at her hands and fidgets. I can tell she wants to say something, but I''m not going to press it. It may be insensitive, but I don''t have time for this. My shift is almost over and I¡¯ve got a lot to do after. I start shelving the stack in my hand, trying to finish so I can leave right when I''m off. I turn to her after placing the last book. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Well,¡± she starts. But I interrupt. ¡°All that matters is that you''re feeling better,¡± I say, and clean up the area that I was working in. ¡°I gotta go, I got some errands to run. I''ll see ya tomorrow?¡± ¡°Yeah, I''ll be here.¡± She nods. Her face brightens up and I can see the tension leaving as she relaxes a little. I know what was going on. She felt like she owed me something. But in actuality, I owe her. That whole thing happened because of me. She wouldn''t have been a target, at least not by that guy, if it wasn''t for me. I can understand how she feels indebted, not knowing that it was my fault. But even so, I wouldn''t accept anything. She walks away with a bounce back in her step. Hopefully, me playing it off as another day made her feel better, but I can''t dwell on it. Right now, I''ve gotta go see a man about a knife. My brakes give out a high pitched squeak slightly as I creep up to the local wizard guild house a short time later. I feel uneasy even being near this place. The practitioners within are not street or Vegas performers. They are real, honest to God, Wizards. The kind that you read about in fantasy novels. And they are, for the most part, a ¡®suffer no demons¡¯ crowd. Magic has always fascinated me. It''s an art form, no matter what it''s used for. Black, white, red or whatever, it''s summoning energy from nowhere and everywhere and using it for what you desire. Humans have been the most adept at harnessing it. Probably because they have no choice, nothing else to fall back on. If you don''t have magic, you''re just human. That makes you much more susceptible to beings born or made with magic. I learned a few things when I was younger. I can do some things, but they''re mostly parlor tricks. Things you''d show a kid. There are those in the city that know more than me. Those would be novices. I''m below them. But those inducted into the guild are in a different category all together. I step out of my car and feel the energies surrounding the building. If I were to walk up without being invited, I would be walking away with missing limbs or not walking away at all. The wards and spells woven into and surrounding the building are very powerful, and I can almost see the ebb and flow of it all. The closer I get, the more the hairs on my arms stand on end, like there''s crazy static in the air. I stop at the edge of the pathway leading to the doors, as I was instructed when I called on the way here. The voice on the other end was distorted in a way that made it sound like the phone they were using was very old. I once heard the first recorded voice at the Smithsonian; there was so much background noise and static that you could barely tell a human voice was speaking. This voice was only slightly less distorted than that one. Ultimately, the only word I understood was ¡°stay.¡± So here I stand. And stand. And stand. After about twenty minutes of me just standing here, pacing, considering if I¡¯ve been brushed off and thinking about leaving, the wards part like a curtain and the doors finally open. A small, limping figure shambles out of the large double doors. The figure¡¯s movements are arthritic, causing the cloak it¡¯s wearing to shake. The figure hobbles toward me and stops about two yards away, raising a shriveled and liver spotted hand, pointing at me. Its pale white, bony fingers are tipped in yellowing, claw-like fingernails. ¡°Who are you?¡± comes a raspy, shaking voice. It sounds like they¡¯re drunk and on the verge of coughing up dust. ¡°Is this a test?¡± I ask. ¡°Are you going to ask me my quest and my favorite color too?¡± I should probably keep a lid on my sarcasm, but stress really brings it out of me. ¡°Do you not wish us to aid you, demon. Hm?¡± That gives me pause. I don''t like people calling me that. Especially when I didn''t tell them. I decide now is not the time for snark, so I try a more subservient path. I bow regally, as is the custom in dealings between species of power. ¡°I am Mikael Balthazar.¡± Yes, that is really my last name. One an Angel, the other a wise man. I''m neither, and I''m okay with it. The wizard''s withered hand pulls back the hood, and with it goes the illusion. There is now a woman who appears to be in her late 50s standing before me. She has a hard expression on her face, and crows feet are starting to show at the corners of her eyes. Whether those are from laughing, smiling, or giving the withering glare I¡¯m getting now, I can¡¯t be sure. The robes she''s wearing have changed to a more ornate set, inlaid with jewels and gold thread accents. They obscure every bit of her except her head and hands, which also are no longer the old spotty things they just were. Her skin has changed from pale to a very dark bronze and it seems a natural skin tone¨Cno fake bake here. It¡¯s close to mine, but I assume we¡¯re not from the same circles. Her hair is dark too, but she has a few grays here and there. Her posture is nearly perfect and she seems to command respect. ¡°Greetings, Mikael,¡± she says, returning the bow. ¡°I am Olvira. I am one of the Archwizards of this guild. You sought us out to perform a scrying spell, yes?¡± The raspy voice is replaced by a mature, authoritative one. She has an accent that sounds like a mixture of middle-eastern and British and I''ve decided I''m not even going to try to place it. ¡°That is my intention, yes,¡± I say, keeping my hands at my sides. I know they will be at least a little distrustful of me. They¡¯re fairly distrustful of anyone not initiated. ¡°Do you have an item owned by the intended target?¡± ¡°Yes, I do. I will grab it from my pocket. Is that okay?¡± I ask. ¡°Of course.¡± She inclines her head. There''s a slight smile curling on the edge of her lips. She must like how formal I''m being. That''s good, because it doesn¡¯t come naturally to me, this is hard. I reach into my coat pocket and grasp the knife. I try pulling it out slowly, I use my index finger and thumb to hold it non-threateningly but it gets stuck. My eyes flick up to her and I give a weak smile as I start tugging harder. I grasp the hilt fully and pull and it rips free as I brandish the blade. As soon as she sees what it is, her lips pull away from her teeth in a snarl. It was an instinctive reaction, and it startles me. With a few quick words and a gesture of her hands I¡¯m knocked on my ass. I drop the knife and it lands in the dirt near me, blade down while she stands over me, ready to attack. ¡°Is this a threat, demon?¡± Chapter 7: Just getting it warmed up Her cordial, if a bit dismissive, demeanor has all but evaporated. Her expression is nearly a hissing snarl and I''m stunned as to why. It was such a violent change from her prior bemused expression that I''m nearly left with whiplash at the change. ¡°I-I told you I was going to grab it from my pocket,¡± I say. ¡°It was stabbed into my tire and I need to know whose it is.¡± She studies me and looks down at the knife, then back up at me. ¡°We have no desire to be a part of your games. You will not waste our time.¡± She turns to walk away. ¡°Wait!¡± I call after her. She stops and turns, eyeing me suspiciously. ¡°I just need some help, please!.¡± ¡°No,¡± she says, ¡°Leave here.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t, I need this. I could give you¨Cuh,¡± I grasp at different payments that I think might change her mind, ¡°I could give you something. Something from me, my hair?¡± She raises a skeptical eyebrow, ¡°My blood?¡± I cringe at my words. Why the hell did I say that? I wouldn''t give that. Chock that one up to panic, If I don''t get this, I don''t know who else to ask. If she was in any way corrupt, she could use my hair to control me to do terrible things. With demon blood though, she could do so much more. I begin to wonder if this whole situation is worth it, but my mouth continues running. ¡°Not blood, but hair? You could use it to bind any of my abilities I have and I would be next to powerless. Please, I need your help.¡± It''s hard to negotiate when one person has all the power, but right now it''s necessary. People don''t trust demons, or demonspawn. It''s not a stereotype¨CDemons who venture into this plane have to be powerful to make it through and generally do so to wreak havoc on the human population. Through cunning or by propagating. Even half-demons, tempered as we are by our human blood, have a tendency toward destruction. I have to show her now that I can be trusted. ¡°That is a bold wager, demon. Are you sure you would take the risk?¡± She looks deeply into my eyes, but I don''t look directly into hers. I have always been told never to look into a wizard''s eyes. I try to swallow, but my mouth is suddenly very dry, so I kinda just make a choking sound. I feel a pressure in my head as her gaze intensifies. But then Anna flashes into my mind. Pale, sweaty and unsure of what is happening to her. If this guy is still in my town or decides to stay here, that will happen to many more helpless people. ¡°Yes,¡± I say and the pressure dissipates. Her slight smile returns again. ¡°Very well, Mikael. I believe you can be trusted now. But you should know that blood magic is a dangerous school. Those who work Hematomancy often fall to darker arts. I will not require anything from you but your word. You must make an Oath on your power that you will honor our neutrality and armistice inside the guild house.¡± Oh, man. I probably should''ve started with that. A simple Oath that would render me powerless inside. Although if I did, she may not have been so ready to accept my offer. ¡°By my blood and by my power, I, Mikael Balthazar, swear to uphold neutrality until our business is done . . . and I return to my vehicle.¡± She raises an eyebrow at my add-on. I make it a point to C.M.A. (cover my ass, if that wasn''t clear) when dealing with magic. ¡°Interesting,¡± she says, ¡°As do I, Olvira Duchesne,¡± I wasn¡¯t expecting a last name like ''Do-cane'' given her looks, ¡°agree to your terms and swear that no harm will come to you by our hand until our business is done and you have returned to your vehicle.¡± I can feel the Oath bind us together. Now, if I do anything against what I said, and I mean anything, it will double back to me and affect no one else. If anything were to happen to me, it would turn on her instead, and I would not be harmed. ¡°Follow me.¡± She turns toward the doors, pulls out a handkerchief, and hovers her hand over the blade stuck in the ground. It slides out of the grass, and the hilt places itself in the cloth in her palm. On the way up to the doors, she is making odd gestures and speaking in a hushed tone. She is unweaving spells and breaking down some of the wards on the building. Mostly the ones on the gigantic sigil carved wooden doors that are opening at our approach. I can''t help but get chills. It¡¯s really cool to witness real magic. When we enter, I hear a slight popping sound and look around. I look back to where we just came in. I can see the outside, but it doesn''t feel like it''s real anymore. It''s like an afterimage. The doors close behind us, and the magic barriers close like a curtain again to cover it. The inside of the building is like nothing I have ever seen. I haven''t ever needed the wizards to do anything for me, so this is a first. If it weren¡¯t for the fact that someone sent an incubus after me, I would feel like a giddy kid going to an arcade for the first time. The grand hall of the entrance is a thing of beauty. There are statues and elaborate stonework everywhere. Each statue has a metal plate with the name of who it depicts engraved on it, along with some of their greatest deeds. I don''t get a chance to read them, because Olvira is marching through quickly. I think the Archwizards live here, so this is all something she¡¯s seen for perhaps hundreds of years. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. We walk up to a door, and she makes some more gestures with her hands. I can feel her pour a small amount of will into the movements. The energy she uses sends high-pitched ringing through my ears. Magic does that when it¡¯s being used around us¨Cespecially when it¡¯s a threat. The ringing is like a warning or defense mechanism that demons have. It¡¯s our preternatural senses telling us to be careful. The door in front of us changes from a new, freshly lacquered door to an old knotted one that doesn¡¯t quite fit the frame. There¡¯s about an inch or so gap from the top and bottom. Olvira pushes it open and walks in. I can only assume I am to follow, so I do. The room that it opens to looks like an old classroom. There are stools and tables with a few people practicing spells and incantations. They all look at me as I pass by. Some stand in respect to her station, and some of them wrinkle their noses like I smell or something. I just look around in awe at everything. She walks to the back of the room and addresses a young man with his back to us leaning over a large desk. ¡°Vithar,¡± she says in her commanding voice. He immediately stands up straight and turns to her. ¡°Yes, ma''am.¡± Everyone in this room is wearing robes, and he is no different except for the designs on his. I assume the designs indicate some status level throughout the guild. I look the rest of him over. He is tall with red shaggy hair, wisps of a goatee and, from the way his robes hang off him, is rail thin. ¡°This,¡± she waves a hand at me, ¡°demonspawn needs a scrying spell performed.¡± At the announcement of my lineage, there are a few of the other wizards that get up and leave the room. ¡°Are you up to the task?¡± Vithar looks at me and nods. ¡°Of course, ma''am,¡± he says and looks back at her. ¡°You''re not going to do it?¡± I ask without thinking. She glares at me and Vithar''s eyes widen as his mouth drops open. ¡°A simple scrying? By an Archwizard? Preposterous. This will be a training exercise for Vithar.¡± His eyes close and open as he nods to her. I feel like an idiot. Who was I to think that one of the highest ranking members of the house would love to personally help me? I guess I just assumed that since she came to get me, she would be helping me. But now I think it¡¯s that, if I had tried anything, she was confident in her abilities to vaporize me. It¡¯s a sobering thought. Sometimes, I need to be taken down a peg or two. It keeps me humble. Vithar produces an honest to god crystal ball from another table. I thought those things were just for show, like for back alley psychics and stuff. I look around making sure I didn''t just say that out loud. No one seems to notice as a crowd gathers around us. He begins chanting and making precise movements with his hands. From beside me, I hear Olvira clear her throat loudly. Vithar stops and we all look at her. ¡°Did you forget that you needed the object, Vithar?¡± He turns even redder, and there are a few giggles coming from the crowd surrounding us.¡°Of course not, Archwizard Duchesne. I was just getting it warmed up.¡± More laughter from everyone at his attempted humor. I even see a small smirk from her as she hands him the blade, and he starts the chant over again. This time the crystal starts to cloud, and he breaks his chant and touches the blade to the ball. A picture starts to show inside. At first it''s blurry, and I move closer to get a better look. As it starts to clear, I realize moving was unnecessary. I see Silverleech, and he¡¯s kneeling and talking to someone. Suddenly there¡¯s sound, and we can eavesdrop on their conversation. ¡°. . . tried, My Lord. The girl lied to me and sent me to another pathetic half-breed and disappeared before I could press her further. I am attempting to locate her again.¡± He bows his head lower, nearly prostrating himself before a shadowy figure sitting on a throne of sorts. Everything but the leech is clouded over. I assume because he is the target of the spell. ¡°Do not fail me.¡± The voice from the throne pauses, then continues. ¡°You are my son, but I will not tolerate it, even from you.¡± I assumed he was speaking to the ¡®father¡¯ he said wouldn¡¯t like it if I was killed but, perhaps not. The voice doesn¡¯t match what I was picturing. It actually sounds quite beautiful. I hear someone say, ¡°no,¡± and I look around. I don¡¯t know where it came from; there¡¯s no one close enough to have whispered it that loudly. ¡°Yes, my . . .¡± he stops mid sentence, and to everyone''s surprise, he whips his head around and looks directly at us. A few of the others in the room gasp and I hear shuffling as some of the students must be moving backward. The same voice says. But still, I can''t pinpoint who is speaking. ¡°Vithar . . .¡± Olvira says, and takes a step forward. I can feel something in my gut, she is gathering energy. The keening sound in my head rises. ¡°Forgive the interruption, my Lord. It appears a rat has taken my bait.¡± He holds out his hand in the form of a finger gun and points in Vithar''s direction. ¡°Vithar,¡± she says more urgently, ¡°Stop.¡± But he doesn¡¯t. His eyes are unfocused and his jaw is hanging slack. I look at Olvira, then back at the ball. Closing one eye and depressing his thumb to the side of his palm, the incubus imitates the sound of a gunshot. A loud pop echoes through the room, and the ball explodes in a shower of shards. Chapter 8: Our business here is done A green beam of energy shoots toward the stupefied wizard. I try to jump in the way, but Olvira grabs my coat, pulling me backwards. I don¡¯t have time to get to him. I yell, but it comes out muffled, my horror garbling my words. I can only hear ringing in my ears after the explosion. Some of the shards from the crystal ball fly into Vithar¡¯s body and propel him across the room. He lands as limply as a ragdoll and slides a few feet before coming to a stop against a table leg. Waves of the green energy now pulse from the remains of the ball. I see the glass shards still trying to fly out. They are pointed in my direction, but they seem to be hitting a wall. Something hits my head, but I don¡¯t want to turn for fear that my gaze is what¡¯s stopping the shrapnel. I hear a grunt that didn¡¯t come from me and finally look behind me. Olvira¡¯s teeth are bared in concentration. She''s got a hand up, which is what''s actually stopping the shards, and she keeps saying something. She smacks me across the face with her free hand, and suddenly, my hearing comes back with startling clarity. ¡°I¡¯m losing it, go!¡± she yells. I look back at the glass shards. Her hold is weakening as the blasts of energy don¡¯t let up. The shards are gaining ground slowly against the wall of force. I run to bring her down as her eyes roll back. I won¡¯t make it to her in time. Her barrier falters, but I dive, covering her body with mine. Her power is no longer holding back the burst of energy coming from the crystal ball. The biting sting of the glass shards rushing into my back propels me forward. When I collide with her, we fall to the floor and my vision goes black. I''m unconscious. It''s weird that I know that. I''ve been knocked unconscious before, but this is like a lucid dream. The ones where you realize you¡¯re dreaming. It''s even more weird that I feel warm air rushing past me. I can''t see anything, but I''m reaching out, hands stretched out in front of me, trying to gain purchase on something. All of my awkward groping leads to nothing. An image of a red haired wizard appears before me. There is a silver haired man behind him and he raises a knife. He brings it down to sink it into the wizard''s back, and I scream. ¡°Vithar, watch out!¡± A searing pain gnaws at my back. The ringing in my ears has lessened, but it''s not gone. My body aches all over and I¡¯m in an unfamiliar bed. I sit up and look around. Someone is peeking from behind the door to my left. When I meet her eyes, she closes the door, and I hear footsteps running away. ¡°Master Duchesne! It¡¯s awake!¡± I hear her yelling. ¡®It.¡¯ Yup, could''ve done without that. How I love being called an ¡®it¡¯. I¡¯m in an infirmary of some kind. I look down at the bed and see that there are some red spots under me, most likely from glass wounds. There are a few beds like mine lining the walls to my left and right. Some are occupied, and I try to focus on the person next to me, but the door opens. Olvira walks in, her face and neck covered in small cuts and bruises. It makes me cringe. This was my fault. I brought this to them, on them. She sits in a chair next to my bed and looks at me with weary eyes. ¡°You--¡± she starts, it comes out raspy and clears her throat, ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± I say, looking at her. She doesn¡¯t exactly meet my eyes. ¡°Master Duchesne, I did not know that was going to happen. I didn''t know he could do that!¡± I say, my voice gets louder involuntarily. ¡°Vithar . . . Is he, will he be . . .¡± I''ll leave it at that. I don''t remember everything that happened. Just that Vithar was hurt. Even my dream is fleeting now. She looks at the bed next to mine before turning back to me. ¡°Of course you didn''t. You have the magical knowledge of a child. As for Vithar, well...he should''ve known better. He should have safeguarded himself, as I did the rest of the room. I thought I was teaching him a lesson. I had no idea of whom you had angered.¡± I scramble for words, but can''t find any that make sense. She just let him get hit by that? ¡°Is he going to be okay? Is he . . .¡± I want to ask so many questions, but it''s not really the best time. I stare at his still frame. He either hasn¡¯t moved since he was put into the bed, or someone just tucked him in recently. The sheets and blanket are pulled over him up to his chest and have been undisturbed. Much like Olvira, his face and neck are covered in cuts and bruises, but his are deeper. I wonder if their robes offer some kind of magical protection. His red hair is mussed with a darker red liquid. Blood. ¡°Hmm,¡± she says, staring as well, ¡°I don''t know yet. We''ll see.¡± Someone once told me that the training for wizards was meant to cull the weak. But this--I had no idea. While I¡¯m studying his still body, Vithar convulses. It startles me so much that I jump out of the bed. This was a mistake on my part; all the cuts and gouges in my back start to burn.. ¡°Finally,¡± Olvira says, ¡°Child,¡± she says toward the door, ¡°Get me the remnants.¡± She watches me as the girl walks in with the remains of the crystal ball we used. ¡°Calm yourself, demon,¡± she says, standing up. She gestures for the girl to lay the pieces at Vithar¡¯s feet. Her offhand comment made me realize I was starting to get worked up. I''m blowing on smoking twigs that I do not want to turn into a fire here. I take a few deep breaths and snuff out the fledgling flames inside. She waves her hands over him, speaking softly. ¡°What are-¡± I start, but the girl shushes me. ¡°Wait for it,¡± she says. I watch, enthralled as the Archwizard¡¯s motions become more stuttered and her words become more aggressive. Like the words don''t want to be said and she''s forcing them out. Vithar''s body starts to seize again, and his back arches up at her apparent urging. The green energy I''d seen come from the ball now pours out of his mouth. She brings her hands together and starts a swirling motion. The energy follows her trained path and forms a sphere, getting larger as more is siphoned from his body. When the last wisps of it assimilate into the sphere, he lets out a long sigh and his muscles stop contracting. Olvira contains the energy steadily and looks at me. ¡°This,¡± she nods at the ball of swirling green between her hands, ¡°This was meant for you. Had it hit you instead, there would be nothing left of you. The reason it stayed inside of him is because it was searching for demon blood to combust.¡± I swallow loudly. Magic is fascinating, but it should also be used with a healthy amount of fear. There''s a lot that I can take physically, but magic is a different ball game. It''s like how Superman could fist fight just about anyone, but when it came to magic, he was just your average pud. Speaking a few more words, she closes the distance between her hands, and the ball shrinks until it implodes. ¡°Since he was not the target, it didn''t kill him. But, he was wounded greatly.¡± She leans down to him and touches his head. ¡°You may think that our methods are harsh. But this,¡± she waves her other hand across his body, ¡°This is what happens when we are unprepared. And it will be a good lesson for knowing one''s own strength. It is a necessary trial. He will make it through.¡± She turns to another person in the room whom I hadn¡¯t noticed until now. How long has he been there? She whispers to him, and even though he¡¯s across the room, he nods and walks out. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°What was that?¡± I ask. ¡°That,¡± she says, ¡°was none of your concern. She straightens the sheets on his bed and I notice that the pieces of the ball are gone. I decide not to ask. She nods, claps her hands, and steps away from Vithar. ¡°Get dressed,¡± she says. ¡°Our business here is done.¡± My clothes are neatly folded and waiting for me on a bench at the foot of my bed. I slide off slowly to avoid aggravating my back and pick them up. There is a room at the far end of the infirmary that I walk to in order to change. There are so many beds in here, but only a few are taken. I try not to stare until I get into the room. It''s dark inside, and I pat the wall to my left until my hand finds the light switch. The bulb flickers a few times and hums when it stays on. It''s a simple bathroom for the infirmed. There''s a bath in one corner with a toilet about two feet away and a sink and mirror on the other side of the small square room. There''s a foldable chair in the bath, I assume, for people who can''t stand or need to be bathed by others. I turn my back to the mirror and twist my neck around to see the damage. The skin surrounding the bandages is an angry red and there are red spots showing through the white. There is fresher red on top of a maroonish brown. I wonder how long these bandages have been on. The clothes I came in should have the back of them shredded, but they must have been mended somehow. I put them on slowly and check myself in the mirror one more time. No red isn''t seeping through yet. I flick the switch off and return to the bed I was in, grabbing the sheets as I do. Olvira, who was waiting for me, watches me. ¡°I can assure you we have no use for those. If we wanted your blood, we could have taken it while you slept.¡± I feel the immediate need to check my arms for needle marks, but fight it. I can check when it wouldn''t be so blatant. Instead, my cheeks get warm, and I set the sheets down. Olvira opens the door and we leave the room. There is a sea of people who were clearly not expecting us to come out yet. Some try to turn and walk like they just happened to be passing by at that moment on their way somewhere else. Whispers run rampant, and a few bolder people even point at me. Olvira looks at everyone disappointedly, then turns and goes back into the room. I follow, unsure of what I¡¯m supposed to do and, I suppose, not wanting to be the new animal at the zoo. She closes the door behind me and it changes just like before. She opens the new door and looks in. ¡°No,¡± she says, and does it again several times. She nods when she opens the door a final time and walks out. I follow, stop, and spin in a circle a few times. Mostly because we walk out into the main hall. Which is weird because we walked out into a hallway full of people only a moment ago. This place is a maze. I see a couple of people running toward the way we came with bandages and a gurney. Accidents must happen here a lot. They take a hallway that kind of just appears, then closes behind them. I look back at Olvira and realize that she kept walking so I catch up and follow quietly, wondering how they learn to get anywhere in this place. ¡°They overestimated you,¡± Olvira says, breaking the silence that was being as we walked. ¡°What?¡± I ask. We''re almost to the giant front doors. ¡°That blade was left for you to scry yourself. They were unsure of your prowess. This will now go one of two ways. They will think the spell succeeded and that you''re strong enough to brush it off. Or they''ll think that you''re smart enough to have someone else do it so that, if there was a curse, it would happen to them.¡± I get goosebumps from the second possibility. Some supernatural beings are so ruthless, and I would hate to be grouped in with them. ¡°Do you think that''s what I''ve done? That I meant for someone else to take the blow for me?¡± She snorts and lets out an actual laugh. It''s kinda like a kick in the nuts to hear how little she must think of me. Or punch in the gut if you don''t have those. ¡°Mikael, as I said before, you have the magical knowledge of a child, and not one who knows of its true existence. Either that, or you''re a fantastic actor but, I think I know which is true. We were kept relatively safe by our Oath. The energy exploded out because it kept rebounding between Vithar and the intended target, you. Once it happened so many times, it detonated. Vithar as the caster took the biggest dose, but it was a miniscule amount compared to what it could have been." She continues through the halls while giving me this lesson, ever the instructor. "You have a card to play now, though. Until they find out that you''re still alive, they may think you''re dead. So you may be able to continue your search unhindered until they find out. They will think of you as an actual player once they do. Things will only get more heated from here for you.¡± ¡°But they saw us scrying them, wouldn''t they know it wasn''t me?¡± She considers for a moment then stops and turns to me. ¡°No, the spell was a response to scrying. A reaction spell. They could just feel a presence intruding on them. And the incubus seems to be something that wouldn''t simply leave items of his behind. What time is it?¡± It was an odd way to end her statements, but I automatically look at my watch. ¡°6:57.¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± she squints her eyes and looks up for a second then nods. She makes some movements, like the ones she did at the doors before, and speaks a few words. The barriers on the doors abate again. They open for us, but she just steps aside and waves a hand out the doorway. I walk out and turn to her. ¡°I had hoped for more. I feel like this showed me nothing, but that is not a slight to you. Thank you for your help, Archwizard Duchesne,¡± I say with a bow. ¡°Showed you nothing? Then you weren''t looking. Good luck in your travels, Mikael." She returns the bow and the knife that I brought. "If you live through what you are about to encounter, maybe we can teach you a few things. It may help with your abomination.¡± I tilt my head to the side and squint a bit at the poorly veiled insult. ¡°You have strong demon blood in you. With some training, you may be able to bind it instead of ignoring it. Take care that it does not consume you or when next we meet, it may be on the field of battle.¡± With that invitation and also a pretty blatant threat, the doors close. I''m left standing on the pathway with the same expression on my face. This situation keeps escalating, and I just wanted to be left alone. She basically just told me that there''s no turning back now. But oddly enough, I think I''m okay with it. If I get involved, I could die, yes. Or I may keep a lot of people from harm. I''m not normally a martyr, but as I''ve said before, I don''t like it when humans get mixed up in supernatural affairs. It rarely goes well for them. The heat from inside is slowly dissipating now that the doors are closed. Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I look up into the flurries of snow. it''s gotten so much colder out. I shuffle through the accumulated snow on the ground and make my way to my car, and it''s covered as well. I must have been out for a few hours and missed a snowstorm. I reach up to wipe off the layer on my driver''s side door and, as soon as I touch it, the binding between Olvira and I wears off. The power of the Oath ripped away from me, giving me a portion of my own power back in return. I get dizzy and almost fall. Catching myself on the door, my stomach roils. Its contents¨Cmostly bile because I keep forgetting to eat¨Ccome up and make a new home on the ground before me. I wipe my mouth and kick some snow on top of it and get into my car. The decrease in temperature makes it harder to coax the vehicle to life. It eventually turns over, and I wait for it to heat up before I drive away.